


Restraint is Useless  Here

by AvengedRomance



Category: Avenged Sevenfold
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengedRomance/pseuds/AvengedRomance
Summary: Anna wasn't expecting Brian. And she definitely didn’t expect he’d be her salvation. (Trigger Warning: domestic abuse / Content Warning: eventual smut / Patience Warning: slow burn)Disclaimer: this is 100% a work of fiction and does not reflect the past, present, or future actions of any member of Avenged Sevenfold, nor Valary Dibenedetto, nor any person affiliated with the aforementioned parties. The storyline, while not incredibly original, is still mine.Title Credit: "Unholy Confessions" by Avenged Sevenfold.





	1. Chapter One

Winding her long auburn hair into a messy bun, taking special care to position the errant locks to mask the bruising along the nape of her neck, Anna Sinclair breathed deeply as she joined Maria behind the bar. 

Friday night would bring the usual patrons: Tony would boast of his internet company’s success—a stark contrast to his tendency of raking his fingers through the pomade in his slicked back hair with each glance at his phone. Brenda would flounce in, freshly permed with lipstick and eyeliner set to kill, chain-smoke and cough her way to 1am—her lung condition a bigger crisis than her marriage—then covertly slip out shortly after Tony’s 9th beer rendered him just the right amount of uninhibited. No doubt Jack would stop by to make sure she was walking the line and scan the perimeter for any immediate threats to steal her virtue. Or what was left of it.

_Yes, because evil, covetous males lurk around every corner_ , Anna mused bitterly, though she supposed it was obvious why her boyfriend would express concern. Diamond Bar was Long Beach’s newest hotspot. In about 3 hours, the red leather barstools would host any number of sharply dressed businessmen snapping their manicured fingers for another bottle of Dom Perignon, affluent college girls grinding and shaking any and all assets as a bartering tool for free ego inflation and drinks, and hungry-eyed men of all ages more than happy to oblige. Sure, Anna received her share of advances from male patrons, but that was just the name of the game when you were serving up limitless martinis to males with limitless egos and libidos. She played the game with a coy smile and she was good at what she did. Her interpersonal skills worked to her advantage, as her customers loved her and she had the tips to show it. Big tips paid for big tuition bills, which depleted her brain cells Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Ironically, she aided in brain cell depletion Friday and Saturday nights. Rinse and repeat, week in and week out. A temporary solution for long-term gain. 

Still, she felt she couldn’t truly _be_ without Jack watching over her shoulder, waiting for her to smile too broadly or laugh too loudly with a customer of the opposite sex. Or a male friend. Or anyone, at all, ever. “You were flirting with him.” “You liked the attention, didn’t you?” His thoughts evolved to words evolved to threats evolved to hands evolved to marks, but it was just once. Just once he’d slipped up. Through tear-filled eyes, he’d wordlessly begged her forgiveness with his soft hands and chaste kisses; to look past the demons who possessed him just once. Just that once. _How did it get like this?_

Granting a welcome reprieve from her self-torment, her phone pinged an alert: _In your neck of the woods! We are wrapping up the tour in the LBC, so you’d better be ready to serve up some shots tonight ;) these guys will clear out your top shelf! I can’t wait to hug your pretty self once more._

Right on cue, it was as if her oldest friend knew she needed saving from her own torturous thoughts and tossed her a life line. Anna smiled, looking forward to the reunion and the one beacon of light that shone through this hellish week. Valary DiBenedetto and Anna grew up together. Precocious Val took her quiet friend under her wing and helped her out of her shell in their shared dance class. She got along great with Val’s twin, Michelle, but was always more drawn to Valary’s fiery personality; the tsunami to her still, deep waters. With Val, she shared secrets and sleepovers and sneaked sips of wine under their parents’ noses. There was never a silent moment between the two, Val always planning new adventures while Anna constantly made her laugh. She learned to embrace her own wry humor instead of suppress it. “It makes you _Anna_ ,” Val always remarked. Val had the classic beauty and commanding presence, Anna was the cute redhead with a quick comeback. They’d kept in touch over the years after Anna’s mom had made a post-divorce trek to Los Angeles from Huntington Beach, as the girls vowed to never let their friendship fade. Val had been tied up in managing her boyfriend’s up and coming rock band, so phone calls were fewer and farther between. And even though Anna had moved to Long Beach a couple years prior, visits were nonexistent the past several since nursing school took up so much of her time and Val had been on tour since 2007. She was shocked and yet not at all surprised that Valary had actually been featured singing—scratch that, screaming—on one of the band’s more hardcore songs and performed along with them on occasion. Head banging death metal chick or not, Anna loved Val dearly, her token of everything simple and perfect from their childhood. 

_What would she think of me now?_ Anna wondered, grazing her fingers along the 4 tender, purple echoes of Jack’s offense. The hands that once held her so gently now only held her prisoner.


	2. Chapter 2

“Long Beach, we’re here to get fucked _up!”_

Anna looked up from the MGD she was pouring for Tony—his seventh, for those keeping count—just in time to take in the sight of the sweatiest, most colorful behemoth of a human she’d ever seen. 

Being 11pm, the dimly lit bar buzzed with conversation competing against the pulsing upbeat music, the dance floor densely packed with waves of bodies swaying rhythmically, but this Goliath’s battle cry carried over it all. He must have been six-and-a-half feet tall, limbs as long as a gorilla’s. His dark brown hair, chin-length and choppy in front, adhered to his face as if he’d just walked a mile in a downpour. Whorls of color painted his inked arms and his upper torso—okay, yes, that was his _bare_ torso in this public establishment—while his fingers drummed the air idly to the beat of the music. Anna knew a man with these features combined should’ve given off a air of foreboding, but there was a playful glint in this giant’s eyes. Still...no shirt, no service.

Anna smiled at Tony as she passed his draft beer—the perfect ratio of drink-to-foam, thank you very much—and excused herself. She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, clearing her throat and preparing her best managerial voice. This guy was vulgar and shirtless and, as likely as it was that he would gladly drink enough to chop her tuition debt in half, she preferred if she could talk him down before security got involved. The last thing she needed was chaos on such a busy night. 

Weaving through the throngs of guests with a courteous yet serious smile on her face, Anna’s eyes met his. He grinned wolfishly as she approached.

“Well, _hello_ there. Are you my personal welcoming gif—“ the man was interrupted by a whirlwind of blonde hair, winged eyeliner, and red lips crashing through the door. If Anna didn’t know any better, she’d have guessed the Tasmanian Devil had donned a blonde wig and dressed in drag. Unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face, she’d know that whirlwind anywhere: Val. 

“Jimmy. Jesus. I told you to wait!” Val scolded, thrusting a white cotton t-shirt into Jimmy’s hand and smacking his arm. “Decency. Have you none?”

Jimmy cackled at the suggestion, but obligingly threw the shirt on over his head. “Lost the last shred of it when I tripped balls at Disneyland. Those little people in that tunnel fucked me up, man. Fucked the decency right out of me.” He looked down at the blank shirt and let his arms fall slack at his sides, dejected. “This isn’t my Sunday best.”

“It’s Friday, Jim,” Val said, but no longer paid him any mind, her eyes finding Anna’s and filling with tears of joy. “Anna Sinclair, where have you been all my life?” 

Anna opened her arms just as Valary crashed into her, knocking her backward. The two girls were a tangle of flailing arms and contrasting hair as they tried to regain their footing, but Val’s taller stature provided the wrong kind of leverage and she landed on top of Anna, pinning her to the floor.

“Oh my God, yes. This is exactly what I came for,” remarked a voice from the entrance. A stout man walked in, rubbing his hands together as if beholding a feast after a famine, and walked toward Jimmy. What he lacked in height, he made up for in Mohawk; the tallest, blackest Mohawk Anna had ever seen. Despite the vertical supplementation from his hair, he didn’t even reach Jimmy’s chin. He was cute in the way that a pit bull puppy was cute; mischievous and scrappy, but a complete teddy bear otherwise.

Jimmy shoved him in response. “Don’t be a shithead, Christ. There are ladies in need.” Jimmy reached both hands down and pulled the girls to their feet in one fell swoop. Jimmy’s grip lingered as he knelt stoically before Anna, lightly pressing his lips to the back of her hand. She felt the cool metal of a labret piercing against her skin. “My lady.”

Anna laughed and, playing into his medieval gesture, placed her other hand atop Jimmy’s head, feeling the wilting spikes that graced the crown of his head. Huh, business in the back and party in the front. That’s one way of doing it, I suppose. “Good sir, you’re relieved of your knightly duties. And thank you for covering yourself so I didn’t have to kick you out.”

Jimmy popped up with a grin, shooting a finger gun in response and began erratically drumming the bald side of the shorter man’s head, who just as quickly swatted him away. Making a beeline for the bar, Jimmy announced, “Now that all damsels are out of distress, it’s time for my _nightly_ duty of getting fucked up!” 

“Give it up, Jim,” Val laughed, hands wiping her eyes, then dusting off her black pants. Turning her attention back to Anna, Val grasped her hands and smiled apologetically. “Okay, so that’s one way to come back into your life with a bang. You’ve already met Jimmy and the crude one who can’t keep it in his pants is Johnny, our bassist. Johnny, meet my oldest friend in the whole world, Anna.”

Johnny shrugged, guilty as charged, and held out a hand to shake Anna’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna. I’m surprised Val has any friends besides us.” 

“Hey, she was mine first, so you should feel honored I’m sharing her,” countered Anna with a wry grin. 

Behind Johnny and Val, three more men walked through the door. The first man donned a bandanna and aviators—at 11pm, even—and strode up behind Val, pulling her into his muscled embrace and lightly pressing a peck to her cheek. Flanking him were two dark-haired men, one with viper bite piercings hugging his lip, a bow tie hanging loosely around his neck, and the most electric green eyes Anna had ever seen. For not the first time tonight, she was amused by so many contradictory attributes this group of men displayed. 

“Matt, this is the Anna you've heard so much about," Val said, while he reached forward to shake Anna's hand, flashing a brilliant dimpled smile. Possessing every bit of boyish good looks she'd have imagined a front man of a pop band to have, Matt fell far outside what she'd have thought a metal singer to look like. This guy just walked out of an underwear shoot next to Marky Mark circa 1990. Valary could have likely snatched up Mark Wahlberg himself, but perhaps opted for an edgier, pierced and inked version just to spite her parents. 

“I respect any man who can handle this firecracker," Anna said, nodding her approval to Val. 

“She keeps my shit together. She keeps all our shit together," Matt replied, pulling Val close and resting his cheek on her head. "Anna, I've heard more about you than you could imagine. All good things, don't worry. This is Zacky," he gestured to Green Eyes, who nodded in acknowledgment. "And this is Bri--. Well, what the fuck?" 

Suddenly, a riotous whoop beckoned from the bar, snapping Anna back to reality. She cursed under her breath and shot an apologetic look to her friends, gesturing for them to follow as she made her way back to the bar she'd neglected for the past 10 minutes. Fortunately, Maria seemed to be juggling the drink demands perfectly fine. Once Anna had taken her place behind the bar to rally the drink orders, she saw that Matt, Johnny, and Zack had been flagged down for by some local fans. Val held up a finger, exasperated, signaling that they’d be awhile. 

Jimmy sidled up playfully. “Oh good, you heard me,” he said, forming a frame with his thumbs and forefingers and closed an eye as if he were taking a photograph. "She's beautiful and she pours my lifeblood. I should write a song about this woman, Gates. I should paint portraits in her honor. Oil paints too, not like, water colors, so you know I’m serious," he mused dreamily to his companion and obviously the fifth member of their ensemble. "Goddamnit, this is my new favorite bar!"

Anna shook her head and failed at hiding her smile. "What can I get you gentlemen?"  

“We're feeling pretty classy tonight. Make it two Glenlivet on the rocks," ordered Jimmy, glancing to his friend for approval. 

“Not _that_ classy. Just a tall High Life for me, please,” he—Gates?—corrected politely. 

_This one has manners._ As Anna muttered her acknowledgment and began preparing their drinks, she allowed herself a glance at him through lowered lashes. Shocks of black hair were spiked haphazardly every which way. Enviously, Anna concluded this man was one of those. One of those who could stand outside in a hurricane and his locks would end up gloriously tousled to perfection. Dark eyes gazed at the dance floor from under hooded lids, almost lazily—but in a laissez-faire kind of way, not the medically diagnosable sort. He seemed to be mesmerized by the bar’s atmosphere, almost calmed by it. Like he’d been waiting for this moment of stillness after long months on the road. Tattoos, as seemed to be a requisite for this gang, colorfully snaked their way up his forearms and biceps to a hiding spot beneath the sleeves of his white v-neck tee. Anna thought it peculiar for a man to sport such a top, as the Southern California v-neck’s purpose was typically to accentuate an ample amount of cleavage. Instead, she glimpsed the strong line of his collarbone, mentally tracing the ridge from the hollow of his throat to just beneath the neckline of his shirt. Anna blinked her eyes rapidly, shaking herself from the intrusive and unexpected thought, and realized he was staring at her. His kohl-rimmed brown eyes, the color of melted chocolate, met her blues and she smiled politely. 

“He lives the high life, he drinks the High Life,” she quipped as she slid his drink across the bar top, hoping to make light of her intrusion and internally scolding her eyes for betraying her. “I’m Anna, Val’s friend. Given your close proximity to Jimmy, I’m going ahead and assuming you’re with the band. Gates, is it?”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “It’s Brian, actually. Gates is sort of a stage name.”

Anna raised an eyebrow in question.

Just then, the music changed. Jimmy forcefully set down his glass and grasped Brian’s arm tightly. “Dude, it’s the fucking Macarena. When is the last time you heard this song? What year is it? Who requested this?!” Without waiting for an answer, he sped off to the dance floor, dragging Val from Matt’s side to join him. 

Anna giggled at the sight while Brian shook his head, almost as if he expected nothing less than bombastic from Jimmy.

She couldn’t withhold her curiosity. “So, this stage name...” 

“It’s, uh, it’s Synyster Gates,” he clarified, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. 

Anna detected a tinge of pink to his cheeks. Catching the hint, she pursed her lips and nodded in exaggerated consideration of his name. “That’s very metal of you.”

To her surprise, he let out a loud chuckle at that. “Well, good, that’s what I was going for... when I was eighteen. It mostly ends up being shortened to ‘Syn’ or ‘Gates’, but it is what it is. It’s a persona.”

“Synyster Gates: the Grim Reaper’s right hand man,” Anna joked, immediately cringing at how ridiculous she sounded. She was losing her edge, her composure. Was this all because of a collarbone? She was cool, she was calm, she was a fucking cucumber.

He laughed, amused at her attempt at humor and pulled out rumpled pack of Marlboros. “It’s a decent tag line, but I think you can do better. We’ll regroup a bit later and you can show me what you’ve got.” He rose to his feet and took several gulps to finish his beer. Anna’s traitorous eyes trailed back to his v-neck, which had inched down to provide a peek of his flexed chest muscle, a byproduct of lifting his glass. 

_Stop it, Sinclair, or we’ll rip our own eyes out_. 

Her eyes found his, once again caught dead in the middle of her visual feast. He held her stare as he drew out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth, letting it hang loosely from his lips. 

_STOP LOOKING AT HIS LIPS._

With a lazy wink, he turned toward the exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Brian pushed through the front door of Diamond Bar, greeted by a balmy California breeze against his face. 

God, how he had missed California. 

Two more shows after what seemed like a lifetime on the road. Two more shows and he was home bound to Huntington Beach until God knew when. And he didn’t care that his next departure was yet to be determined, because that meant more time at the beach, more time surfing, and sleeping in his own goddamned bed. 

Seeing a group of approaching women down the block, he sneaked around the side of the building, concealing himself from the glow of the marquee to enjoy a smoke break without the possibility of recognition. He bit the tip of the unlit cigarette and rolled it back and forth between his teeth, suspending his craving for nicotine to first fill his lungs with saltwater air from the Pacific a block or so away. 

The scent of home. 

It was truant high school mornings spent getting stoned with Jimmy and any number of nameless high school girlfriends, depending on the day. It was his shitty blond highlights and forty ounce Natty Lights, wiping out on his surf board and never being able to get the sand out of his ass crack. It was bonfire nights under his dad’s tutelage. Brian Sr. was always teaching, always performing, his son’s fingers forever trying to match pace with his father on the fretboard—perfection in his picking, strumming, tapping. He got better. And better. He got _good_ and he fucking knew it. 

His stage name was the result of trying to fit a death metal motif, a fondness of purposeful misspellings, and the fact that on stage, he really could’ve been the Grim Reaper. Cliche as it sounded, he took people’s breath away. Synyster Gates could shred like a motherfucker, garnering screams, tears, and torpedoed panties from thousands upon thousands of girls of all ages. He fucked some of them, of course, because drugs and bad decisions tended to go hand-in-hand. Plus, two years spent celibate would be an insult to his rising fame. And his dick. All the pent up testosterone and adrenaline would’ve launched it straight to the moon if he’d kept it in his pants. But man, was he tired of the randoms. It was all fangirl bullshit and lackluster orgasms and playing STD roulette.

Zacky plucked the still unlit cigarette from Brian’s mouth and lit it for himself, inhaling deeply before releasing a cloud of smoke into the night air. He leaned against the gritty brick building next to Brian. “Thanks for the smoke, man.” 

Brian hadn’t heard him approach. “Where did you even come from?”

“I was talking to you for at least thirty seconds while you were stargazing,” Zacky moved his hands in a circular fashion to the sky, apparently signifying mysticism. “And not lighting your shit. I saw an opportunity; I took it.” He blew smoke rings into the night sky, the heavy bass from the hip hop music inside ever so slightly vibrating their backs. “What‘s up with you? You’re all spacey and shit.”

Brian fetched another cigarette from his crushed pack of Marlboros and took the lighter from Zack’s outstretched hand. Flick. Light. Deep inhale. “Just glad to be back.” Long exhale. “And thinking about rockets shaped like dicks.” 

“Sounds about right,” laughed Zack with a shake of his head. “You’re a weird sonofabitch, Gates.”

At the mention of his stage name, Brian thought back to the bartender girl, Anna. He’d caught her watching him twice now, which didn’t necessarily surprise him. He was no stranger to being the victim of mental undressing. Her stare was different, though. She stared at him like she was trying her hardest to see him, to really _see_ him. He’d ordered his drink and raked his eyes over the crowd to locate Matt and the rest of the group, but found himself enamored and comforted by the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor. Messes of hair and tanned skin illuminated by the soft glow of the track lighting overhead writhed together in synchrony; such a contrast to the violent shoves and jumps of the pits at their shows. He loved the pits, of course. He loved how the wild cadence of The Rev’s drum fills set the rhythm for his face-melting solo—which he always conquered with confident precision. Shadows’ gritty yet somehow melodic vocals soared high over he and Zacky Vengeance dueling guitars in tandem, exchanging smirks at how the women would scream and cry when they approached center stage. Johnny Christ became a beast of a man when left to his own devices, wielding his weapon and the bass did his bidding, the deep tones enriching and completing their Avenged Sevenfold sound. The adrenaline rush was addicting and he loved sharing the limelight with his crazy, shithead best friends. 

But this...the soft waves of these bodies moving rhythmically was California culture, through and through, and it reeled him in for a welcome home embrace. When he’d spun back around to fetch his drink and found Anna’s eyes silently observing his reverie, he’d felt almost violated, like she was trying to peel back his skin for a peek at Brian. For months, he’d been an object to their hungry fans begging for more of their music, more of his time, more autographs, more more more. This girl examined from the sidelines quietly, a genuine curiosity about... him. It jarred him, knocked him off his pedestal for a moment. Once her eyes dipped to his chest and her lips parted involuntarily, his ego regained its previous momentum. _Hell yeah._ He mentally patted himself on the back for using the dumbbells on the tour bus as more than just paperweights. It obviously paid off. She became visibly flustered when she found him watching her watching him, the cat caught with the mouse, and it satisfied the fuck out of him. 

Of course she had to be Val’s friend. Not just a passing acquaintance, which would leave Brian with only minimal remorse for bedding and forgetting her. _Do I even want that anymore?_ The girls had a long history, like single-digit age childhood history. The possibility was... an impossibility, so he shut it down. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy making her squirm a little with well-placed flirtation. Her sense of humor endeared him and she carried herself well, a pert little package dangling right in front of him. Never one to back down from a challenge—even if just for sport—he rehearsed ways to pique her intrigue, to see those pink blossom lips part speechlessly once more. Since he couldn’t fuck her, he’d add her to the spank bank lineup.

Around the corner of the building, the volume of music rose and abruptly cut off by the clang of a metal door slamming shut. A guttural roar, sounding only half-man. Hushed male whisper-shouts were met with a pleading female. 

Zack wasted no time in smashing the butt of his cigarette with the toe of his boot, proceeding to tip-toe sprint to the side of the building and watch the scene unfold. He called to Brian with a hushed chuckle, “You’re not trying to miss out on some trouble in paradise, are you?” 

Brian waved a hand and scoffed dismissively, taking a final drag from his smoke before flicking it to the ground and watching it roll off the curb, the ember quickly extinguished by a puddle. Quiet was what he wanted.

“Oh, dude,” Zack whispered, turning back to Brian and motioning to join him. “It’s Val’s friend. Man, she is catching hell from this guy.”

Brian snapped to attention, feeling equal parts curiosity at drama that wasn’t his own and some sort of unexplained anger that someone had the balls to raise their voice to the pretty, funny redhead who’d made him smile 10 minutes prior. He barely kept his feet in check, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he swiftly approached the alleyway. Fortunately, he and Zacky were mostly concealed by a bulky blue dumpster. 

“The fuck’d she do?” Zacky asked. 

Brian didn’t speculate. It wasn’t his place to intervene. He did not know this girl or her history, but she obviously had baggage. Walking away would have been the smartest option; it wasn’t his business. Then again, he wasn’t exactly known for taking the high road. Anna’s guarded expression wavered as she withstood this man’s fury, the volume of his voice rising along with Brian’s blood pressure. He felt the sting of brick digging deep into his fingertips as he expended every ounce of strength to hold himself in place.


	4. Chapter 4

_Defuse. De-escalate._

Two words droned over and over in Anna’s mind, a warning keeping time with the flickering buzz of the alley light. Jack had come. Of course he had. He’d seen it all, hiding in plain sight, easily camouflaged by the Friday night crowd. 

After Brian had exited for a smoke break, Anna had difficulty teaching her appendages how to function once more. She’d felt tightly wound and restless under her skin, a guitar string long neglected and begging to be strummed.

Maria hip checked Anna as she reached forward to retrieve Brian’s empty glass, a knowing smile on her face as she glanced over to his retreating figure. They’d worked together long enough that Maria knew Anna was unshakeable when fielding the advances of men under the influence. Anna dismissed Maria’s accusatory eye contact, blowing air through her pursed lips nonchalantly as she wiped the ring of condensation—the only remaining evidence of Brian aside from the warm flutters in her chest—from the bar top.

“That was heated,” teased Maria, flipping her wavy black ponytail over her shoulder seductively. Everything Maria did was seductive, so her observation of the brief interaction made it feel even more illicit. Shame washed over Anna at the idea that her professional front faltered as a result of the havoc Brian’s eyes wreaked on her insides. Anna chewed absentmindedly at her already short thumb nail, an unsightly habit she’d been meaning to break. 

Huffing a laugh, Anna said, “You‘re reaching, you know that?” Still, her heart struggled to regulate. Her cuticles in even worse shape.

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Maria shrugged as she masterfully poured two bottle of liquor into the same tiny shot glass. “He looked at you like you were a snack and I, for one, am supportive of this. Don’t act like you get that kind of heat from Jack Frost at home. Or, you know, any warmth whatsoever.” She shot a pointed look at Anna, aware that Jack was a bit frigid in recent months. She just didn’t know the extent of it.

                     —————————

     Two years prior, Anna’s early afternoon class had been cancelled on account of her professor going into labor, so she’d retreated with her laptop to a quiet corner of the cafeteria,  devouring the next episode of her Grey’s Anatomy DVD. Unexpectedly, a hand plucked the earbud from her ear and, stunned by the audacity, she turned to find the culprit. The profile of a handsome, sandy haired man was inches from hers— _her_ earbud in  _his_ ear— and his chin rested upon folded arms as he sat backwards on the plastic cafeteria chair, observing Meredith Grey with her hand in an abdominal cavity.

Anna blinked several times before she could conjure speech again. With a huff, she went in for the kill. “What the he—“ 

Her pointed inquiry met a raised finger. “Shh, it’s about to get real in a second. God, this is a great episode,” he mused with a smile, still absorbed by the laptop’s glow with a Twizzler hanging from his mouth. As he bit off and chewed a piece of the licorice, his finger gently guided Anna’s chin back toward the screen and they watched the rest of the episode together in silence. Every so often, he’d hand her a Twizzler, never taking his eyes off the screen. And every so often, she’d glance over at this confident stranger with long, light brown eyelashes that dusted his cheek with each blink and a jawline sharp enough to slice his way into her heart, anastomosing and patching up a hollow she wasn’t even aware she had.  _A future surgeon, indeed._  In that peculiar, organic moment, it was as if they’d been doing this for years.  

And then they did.  

Until they didn’t anymore. 

Following a fast and furious romance and the mounting intensity of his progression through medical school, Jack began to unravel. So much of his time spent either at the hospital or poring through his textbooks, Jack’s mental state grew increasingly volatile in his third year. Dark circles ringed his eyes more frequently, his behavior erratic. His apartment devolved into a state of disrepair, unwashed dishes spilling onto countertops and remnants of burnt coffee grounds littering the perimeter of the trash can. His floorboards creaked with the lightest tip-toe as a result of pacing night after night, despite her pleas for him to come to bed. His immune system seemed to be suffering and Anna encouraged him to see a physician for his persistent cold symptoms, his nose runny and raw, but he always waved her away. “I _am_ a physician, Anna.”  

Her heart broke to witness her fun, caring human counterpart reduced to a shell of himself, subsisting only on caffeine, mock hospital rounds, and spitting retorts at his girlfriend with little to no provocation.  His irritation transformed to paranoia over her whereabouts when he was away and he began making ridiculous demands to quit her job. _How would I live? How would I eat?_ Sure, he had considerable financial support from his parents, two prominent physicians residing in Seattle but, if Anna were being honest, she did not want another human to hold that power over her. Her protests against his unrealistic request enraged Jack, her humorless laugh at the idea triggering the trap door that sent him hurtling into the abyss, never to resurface. Time slowed and silenced. His breath quickened. His complexion so ashen, she could practically see the blood pumping through his veins, threading together muscle fibers until the cords of his forearms bulged taut, hands clenching and unclenching. The whites of his eyes shrank to slits as she watched him blink away the last shred of the Jack she knew. He’d been gradually relinquishing control of himself, she knew. But he needed to control _her._

That was the first time he’d pushed her. It was not the last.  

_Defuse. De-escalate._

Patience was never his virtue. What he wanted, he took. Exhausted from a long Sunday afternoon spent studying with classmates, Anna nodded off early, textbooks and index cards strewn about her bed. She had awoken that Monday morning to the insistent drumming of rain against her window, the screen of her phone aglow with a recent notification: 14 missed calls. 8 voicemails filled with frantic pleas for her to call him, to never leave him. Bile rising in her throat at both the sound of his desperation and dread over the potential consequences, Anna immediately returned his call.  

It rang in her ear.   
Half a beat later, a familiar tune echoed its call, muffled from outside her window.  

Anna’s fingers instinctively fisted her bedsheets in an attempt to regain a grasp on reality. The recognition of the sing-song melody and its unexpected proximity instilled in her an inevitable sort of terror, a shadowy beast lurking just below the surface of muddy waters. 

Her stomach spasming and frantic speculation hurtling a million miles per second through her mind, Anna loosed her phone to the ground and reluctantly padded toward her window. The dreary light of the rainy morning cast an eerie glow between the eyelets of the lace curtain. The cheery yellow hue of her walls felt wrongwrongwrong surrounding the fear emanating from her pores. 

_He’s lost his mind entirely.  
He’s going to hurt himself._

Her outstretched hand hesitated before reaching the window, knowing that whatever was out there could not be unseen. _Anna, you have done nothing wrong._ Inhaling resolutely and releasing the self-punishment instilled into her by Jack, she swept the curtain aside. A chill struck her as the blood drained from her cheeks and seeped out of teeth marks in her tongue as she bit down, hard. 

Jack’s sallow eyes bore into hers, empty and unblinking, as he peered in from the fire escape. The hood of his jacket provided little reprieve against the elements as rivulets of rainwater streamed from his soaked locks onto his face, down his cheek and fell from his chin, the only hint of emotion in a subtle twitch of his jaw.  

Her need to protect him tore down the many red flags thrown up by her subconscious. “Jack!” she cried as she flipped the locks and hoisted up the window. “What are you—what happened? Are you okay?” 

Silently, he ducked his head under the threshold, puddles of water pouring onto her floor from the nylon of his jacket. Anna became very aware of her small stature in comparison to his intimidating height. She became very aware that her only viable exit lay beyond this wall of a man. Stale, damp air infiltrated her lungs, the open window taunting her as the white lace flapped in surrender.  

“You didn’t answer.” he asked, his voice grating and malevolent. His dark pupils eclipsed the green irises and she did not recognize this person. Echoes of laughter lines lay dormant on his pale skin, a severe contrast to the purple rings beneath his blackened stare. “Where were you.” 

Hesitant to turn her back to him, Anna gestured to the myriad notecards and textbooks that lay open across her rumpled bedsheets, as if they would jump to her defense. “It’s getting close to finals week, Jack. You know that. I got together with Brianne and Adam to study and—“ 

_“Adam,” his voice peaked_ , nostrils flaring. “You had another man in your bedroom.” He took a step toward Anna, her instinctive step back mirrored his. 

“No! God, no. We met at the Starbucks on 5th. I came back to try and make notecards from our materials and...” her eyes searched his for warmth, begging him to understand, to relent, to forgive. Forgive what, she didn’t know. Taking in the red vessels spiderwebbing the whites of his eye, she curbed her reflex of reaching out to him. “I fell asleep. Jack, have you slept at all?” 

He raked his hands down his face, fingertips making a sandpaper sound against the many-days-old stubble peppering his chin. He sniffed, his face softening. “We wouldn’t have this problem if you would just quit. You don’t need to finish school, you don’t need to work, you don’t need this apartment. I have one year left until I can start my residency. You cannot do this while I’m focusing all my time on making a life for us, Anna. I cannot focus when you’re running around on me.” His face fell in defeat, hands surrendered at his sides. 

_Defuse. De-escalate._

She began to close the gap between them, hands outstretched. “I would never—“ 

Rough hands encircled her wrists as she was violently spun toward the window, slamming against the wall. He was on her again before she could register the pain that rattled her skull. He pinned her, pressing her forearms to the wall on either side of her head. Jack brought his forehead to hers, forcing eye contact. “Do not fucking lie to me, Anna. Do not insult me further.” He pressed his head against hers, the pressure screaming through the tender place of impact.  

_Defuse. De-escalate._

Tears pricked her eyes from both pain and terror. “I love you, Jack. I don’t even know where this is coming from. Please. _Please,_ you know me.” 

_Defuse. De-escalate._

Bullseye. His grip released her. She slumped in relief. He brought his hands up to cup her cheeks, eyes searching hers. He buried his face in her hair, brushing his fingers through her locks, then trailing whisper-soft strokes down her neck to her shoulders. His thumb caressed the pulse point of her throat. “Quit your job,” he rasped, his breath warm, yet her skin erupted with gooseflesh.  “Move in with me. I need you where I can see you all the time.” 

_Defuse. De-escalate._

Lips pressed tightly together, Anna pulled back. Unable to eke out a lie and unable to find the words to make it better, her eyes screamed their final plea for him to be rational. Her silence was all it took, the refusal deadening him once more 

His grip on her shoulders tightened as her pulse thrashed under his thumb. An angry half-sob ripped from his throat as he snaked his hands up to her neck. 

_He’s lost his mind entirely.  
He’s going to hurt me._

_Detonate._


	5. Chapter Five

_He won’t hurt me._

Anna recognized this was a gamble, but kept a straight face as she wrung her hands behind her back. 

After she’d (not) convinced Maria that no eye-sex has transpired between she and Brian, Anna had retreated to the restroom to compose herself and to make certain her neck was adequately concealed from prying eyes. She felt exposed, both by Brian noticing her attention and Maria’s all-too-accurate observation of Jack. _Fake it till you make it._ And she would make it. After splashing water on her face and sealing up the cracks in her smile, she exited the bathroom, ready to close the book on this evening. A warm body fell into stride with her the moment she’d emerged and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Jack. 

“Let’s get some fresh air?” he suggested. His long, fingers wrapping around her arm with enough to pressure to remind her the choice was only an illusion.

A dance track boomed from the speakers outside the hallway and there was no chance of catching the attention of anyone she knew; luckily, Maria rounded the corner to bring a tub of empty glasses to the dishwasher, narrowly avoiding a collision. Anna locked eyes with her as Maria’s darted between the two, obviously sensing the tension. The opportunity to escape this scenario, to escape Jack, stood right in front of her. With Maria standing witness, Anna could confess the nightmare she’d endured the past months, marring her skin and marring her heart. And yet, if something happened to Jack as a result of her abandoning him during the most crucial point in his career, in his life, she knew she’d never forgive herself.

“Quick break, okay?” said Anna through a tight smile, holding up her thumb and forefinger to show just how little the break would be—and how little she wanted to go. Jack’s grip squeezed tighter, perhaps a show of affection, but more likely a reminder for her to act every bit of the happy girlfriend. 

“10 minutes.” Maria’s dark eyes flashed to Jack’s, assessing his charming smile in typical Maria fashion. She cocked her head, never one to fall prey to bullshit. “No. 5 minutes. We’re slammed in here.” 

Jack’s smile never wavered as he ushered Anna toward the door, digging his fingertips into her side. Once the metal door snapped shut, his curse ripped through the alley, his agony ricocheting against the metal wall of a massive garbage bin to their south, forming an echo chamber. And potentially a dungeon.

_This air is hardly fresh,_ she thought, an attempt at keeping her fear from devouring her whole.

Anna held her finger to her lips curtly for him to lower his voice. This was her place of employment and, relationship drama be damned, she was respected here. She refused to be the subject of ridicule. Arms crossed and feet firmly planted into the dilapidated gravel surface, she met his accusatory stare. “What‘s the matter, Jack?” 

“I saw you. God, you were just relishing in it,” he spat, though maintaining a respectful volume. “Am I not enough? I came here to surprise you”— _surprise, indeed_ —“and see you practically throwing yourself at that spiky-haired asshole.” 

She stood taller than that crippling day in her bedroom, emboldened by the fact that Maria would have security on high alert sooner than Anna could cry out. Truly, Maria might be more terrifying. 

Jack paced frantically, his restraint teetering, but holding. His strides kicked loose gravel forcefully enough to strike the blue dumpster. Tiny bullets meant for her, she imagined. Fingers intertwined behind his neck, then moved up, tugging at his hair—shaggier than she remembered—as if attempting to pull out the rational part of his brilliant mind. _know you’re in there_ , Anna thought, letting a prayer slip up to whomever was granting prayers these days.

Deep breath. “You’re under a lot of pressure,” she placated, reminding herself there were over a hundred people on the other side of the metal door. “You’re busy, you’re not sleeping. But this is my livelihood. Interaction with the general public is part of what I do—that includes men. I can’t just quit my job and sit around your apartment all day, waiting for you to come home after long hours of clinical. That’s not who I am. It’s completely unrealistic and you know it. Financially, we would drown. It’s temporary and we will overcome this. As for the bar? Those were Val’s friends! I’m not going to...” She pinched the bridge of her nose, invoking her calm. “Whatever you think you saw...Jack, this is tiresome. What is this thing we’re doing? Because this is _not_ ‘Jack and Anna’ anymore.” Her voice broke with the emphasis, mourning the loss of something once so effortless.

Raising his head toward the sky, anguish painted his features. Then, a barely audible lament. “The way you looked at him. You don’t look at me like that anymore.” A gentle breeze made its way through the alley, brushing Jack’s hair away from his eyes to reveal a weary, defeated expression. “Anna, I have been a total monster lately and what I’ve done... it’s inexcusable. I don’t know where it’s coming from and I don’t know how to stop it. This level of pressure... it’s insurmountable. I’ve never know anything like this before. No matter how much effort I put into this—the studying, the hospital rounds—there’s always another hoop to jump through, another fucking mountain looming in the distance. I am killing myself to keep up.” He scrubbed his palms over his eyes and Anna found herself noticing lines creasing his downturned mouth that weren’t there before. “And if that’s not enough... I see my classmates and some of their lives have been destroyed. Their marriages are falling apart, their children miss mom and dad. And the affairs, my God. These people are my friends—hell, my only friends these days—and I’m watching their existences crumble. And for what? Because we want to heal others. We want to fix people and save lives, but at what cost? Who is saving us?” His hand rubbed at his nose and he sniffed, trembling with the maelstrom of emotions he grappled.

“I’m here,” she breathed, heart constricting to witness such torment. Stepping toward him, she extended her hand to cup his cheek, stubble pricking her palm. He placed his hand over hers, leaning into her touch. “I can’t save you, Jack, but I can be here. Please let me.”

With this, Jack pulled her to his chest, resting his chin upon the top of her head. She was comforted and surrounded by his familiar scent: salt skin from the heat of California, a hint of his cologne, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

Anna realized the foolishness of staying with this man concealing the beast who’d unleashed himself so violently. But seeing the state of his grief and desperation, she, too, wanted more than anything to help and heal him. This broken man and their broken love would be her downfall, but as his arms enveloped her in the dismal alley light, she held onto these shards of their love, this tragedy, this hope for things that were and are and were to come.

Just then, a loud bang rattled through the alley. Without a second thought, Jack launched himself on top of Anna, forcing them to the ground and shielding her body with his. Air compressed from her lungs from the weight of him as every nerve was set ablaze, she closed her eyes tightly, bits of loose gravel tearing into her palms and cheek as she braced herself.


	6. Chapter Six

Brian’s skull rattled violently from the blunt impact of a body striking the dumpster, milliseconds after Zack yelped a cry. He spun on his heels, fists instinctively locked and loaded ready to take down the idiot who not only scared the shit out of him, but also likely blew his eavesdropping cover. Temporarily deafened on the right side, he found the familiar laughter that taunted his good ear both relieving and infuriating: _fucking Jimmy._

“Hadouken, motherfuckers!” Jimmy whooped while assuming a ninja fighting stance, beer in hand. Not far behind Jimmy, Johnny was clutching his stomach, doubled over in laughter and barely able to maintain his footing. 

Brian lunged at Jimmy, who easily evaded his attack by ducking and spinning, spilling his drink onto the front of Brian’s pants. The man was surprisingly agile for his height. Johnny was now bracing himself with a hand against the brick as his wheezes progressed to coughing fits of uncontrollable laughter. 

“Really cool, man,” Zack chimed in sarcastically, though his breathlessness betrayed his lingering alarm. “Jesus, do you have an off switch?” Jimmy clutched his groin in a typical response, eyes crinkling in delight. He did not, in fact, have an off switch. 

“Gates....pissed....his pants,” wheezed Johnny. He had sunken to the ground, a trembling heap of hysterics. 

Brian rolled his eyes in response. 

Jimmy ran at the Johnny pile as if to stomp on him, then stopped just before making contact. He turned to face Brian and Zack, downing the rest of his beer and chucking the bottle into the receptacle. “Shads and Val said you came out here for a smoke, but it’s been like 20 minutes. The hell were you guys doing? Dumpster diving? Butt stuff? It was butt stuff, wasn’t it?” His eyes lit up as he looked beyond them, a smile creeping across his face. “You following me, sweetheart? Really, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

Her dark red hair littered with gravel, Anna peeked around the corner looking as if she’d just emerged from battle, the emotion on her face matching his: relief and anger. Unlike Brian, she managed to suppress the negativity. 

Heaving a sigh, she ignored Jimmy’s light-hearted advance. “Oh my God, I thought we were being shot!” The hand resting over her heart in relief was soon claimed by another as an arm crooked its way around her neck, marking its territory.   
Brian was irritated by the arm.   
He was even more irritated by the body attached to the arm, and especially irritated at the face attached to the body.   
This face did not at all match the argument he’d witnessed moments ago. Stepping straight off the cover of Yacht Club Weekly, Anna’s baggage was a rather strapping guy. Brian hated that he was describing another male as “strapping”, but it was undeniable. Tanned skin a only few shades darker than the blond hair on his head, his—Jack’s—smile was practiced and pretentious, a facsimile of an asshole valedictorian who cheated his way to the top. _Fucking jack off,_ Brian thought with venom, pleased with himself for this comically obvious yet accurate pun. 

“Nope. Just Jimmy practicing his asshole skills,” replied Zack. 

To this, Jimmy bowed with some sort of grandiose hand gesture, as if he were a magician who’d just made an entire stadium of people disappear. “Well, that was awesome. Zacky is having a heart attack and Gates needs new pants, so my work is done. Can we head back inside now or are we not finished out here?”

Brian turned his head to Anna for the answer without realizing it. He found her gaze on him once again, but this time was different. Her eyes darted away immediately, the muscles around her pretty mouth working vigorously at a fingernail. He wanted to pull her hand away and lead her out of this alley and her equally disgusting company. 

“What exactly is going on? Babe, do you know these people?” Jack asked. 

“‘These people,’” mimicked Zack with a scoff, almost inaudibly. As much as he loved being a spectator of dramatics, Zack was not a proponent of treating women like shit. The one true gentleman out of their circle of friends, he frequently opted to head back to their various lodging quarters than bang a groupie—not for lack of options, but something about morals or principles. Fiddling with one of his lip rings, Zack turned to head back around the corner. “I’m going inside. It smells like ass and vomit back here and Val and Shads probably think we’re dead.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack exclaimed, recognition causing his presidential expression to slip into something Brian was a bit more familiar with: unabashed pants-dropping idolization. He spun to Anna, mouth agape, and gestured to the four of them. “Is _this_ your friend Val’s band?” 

“Yeah, that’s totally what they call us, too,” Zack muttered, his words dripping with sarcasm and again not intending for anyone else to actually hear. Brian heard. Brian smiled. He could telepathically see the middle finger with which Zack was saluting, also telepathically. 

Anna nodded and Jack strode forward to thrust a hand at Brian, beaming as if he hadn’t just berated his girlfriend within an inch of her life. “Jack,” he said, grinning widely. Brian thought his mouth seemed too big for his face. Too many teeth. The only living things that needed that many teeth are crocodiles and infomercial attorneys—and they’re still probably less likely to bite. “You guys are incredible.”

“Thanks, man. You listen?” asked Brian, perhaps more an understated dig at this country club member than at his band’s popularity. Nickelback seemed more his style, but a fan was a fan. 

Jack continued to make his way around the remaining threesome, shaking hands. “Hell yeah. I used to mess around on the drums a little in high school band class. I was terrible, obviously,” chuckled Jack, turning to face Jimmy with an earnest expression that was borderline reverent. “But The Rev is unreachable. I have insane amounts of respect for you, my man.” 

“You might be the only one,” Johnny said, already prepared to dodge Jimmy’s left hook. His Mohawk was the only victim. Johnny stuck a middle finger in the air as he retreated back to the bar, music thumping louder than before.

Jimmy waved an arm dismissively, then slung it around Jack’s shoulder, never one to shy away from the prospect of new friendship and a good ego stroke. 

“Fuckin’ stop it, dude. You’re gonna give me a big head,” he said, clearly delighted to be the center of attention. “All right, my liver is feeling entirely too buoyant right now. What are we still doing out here? Drinks are on me, let’s fuck shit up.” Jimmy turned to led Jack inside, already raving about the upcoming show and being back in California and laughing boisterously as they exchanged jokes.

Brian turned to Anna, sweeping an arm toward the building. “Ladies first.” 

“Chivalry,” she said, a weariness to her posture as she began walking. “Not so metal of you.” 

He swore he saw the corner of her mouth curve up. 


	7. Chapter Seven

The remainder of the night went off without a hitch, minus Maria shooting daggers at Anna for her prolonged absence. She felt lighter. She felt better. Jack had apologized and she was optimistic about his mental state. He seemed to resurrect his old self in that moment in the alley. The night was nearly over and she’d been kept busy by customers and nonstop drink orders, mostly from Jimmy and Johnny, who seemed to be in competition to see who would projectile vomit first. 

The crowd had dwindled considerably as the three o’clock hour approached, but Anna’s new friends danced and drank on. Val flitted back and forth between the bar and the dance floor, stealing small moments with Anna between drink orders and stealing kisses from Matt as they danced freely, clearly overjoyed to be back in Southern California. When not signing autographs and posing for photos with approaching fans, Brian, Zack, and Johnny took turns performing karaoke, the latter of whom was so beyond inebriated that it was truly impressive when he articulated every word of Eminem’s “My Name Is” without skipping a beat. Seeing this band, these friends, in this carefree environment evoked a melancholy in Anna. Her happiness for Valary far outweighed her envy, but it was difficult to forget that her whole life had become this bar and school. And Jack. She had no time for friends and, the more she thought about it, couldn’t name a friend with whom she’d spent any leisure time in the past six months. But Val had begged Anna to take an afternoon away from studying for finals to meet her for brunch, to which she gladly agreed. Now that Val was back in town for the foreseeable future and Anna had the summer off, she had no intent of letting her slip away again. 

Jack and Jimmy had taken a shining to one another, which she found peculiar. The two couldn’t have been more different. Jimmy was color and vibrance and twitching; Jack was angles and order and calculating. They hadn’t left each others’ side for hours, disappearing randomly amidst fits of laughter, dancing with big-haired cougars until the breathless ladies could no longer keep up with their youthful stamina. She didn’t care, as long as Jack was smiling. Even Jimmy’s playful flirtations with Anna didn’t seem to bother him. _Maybe he’s better now._ Seeing the grin on his face as he sauntered up to the bar, his eyes tired but glistening, was worth everything. _He is better now._ Anna figured if she affirmed it enough, certainly it would come true. 

Jack leaned across the bar top and kissed Anna’s cheek, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. She winced from the pressure on her bruises. “Tonight has been...God, I needed this,” he exhaled, outstretching his arms as if to embrace the evening in its entirety. “I feel incredible. This bar. This band. You. Why do I never do this?”

She smiled in return as she collected empty bottles and glasses, smelling the alcohol on his breath from God knew how many shots she and Maria had served the group. His good mood was reminiscent of the man who laughed with her until early hours of the morning, pointing out medical inaccuracies in all their favorite shows, but she chose to tread lightly. “You did need a night out. I’m happy for you! But don’t you have to be back at the hospital in like, 4 hours?” 

Jack scoffed, eyes wilder than his hair. “Don’t be a buzzkill, babe. I don’t need sleep. I’ll rally. Better yet, I’ll take a mental health day. This is the first night in forever that I’ve felt alive. When will I get this chance again?” It was true; he looked alive, super-charged. 

“Rise and shine, Annie! Sleep is for babies and kittens and coma patients,” Jimmy crowed—and then literally crowed—as he walked up next to Jack. “This dude. Just hook me up to a scotch IV and shoot it straight into my bloodstream. Give me all the drugs in this city and I’ll inject them all at once. I’ve got Dr. Jack, a human ‘get-out-of-death free’ card. I can’t be mad this guy, even if he’s got claim to the first woman I’ve ever loved.” 

Jack reached up and ruffled Jimmy’s hair as Anna watched in disbelief. Jack had never ruffled anything in his life. She didn’t even think ‘ruffled’ was in his vocabulary. 

Brian and Zack approached the bar with a couple women in tow, the prettier of the two leaning forward to showcase a gratuitous amount of breast upon the bar top. 

“Hi, can we get two cosmos?” she rasped with one of those husky, girly voices. The kind that was more fried than her bleached ends. The kind that grated eardrums at 8am classes, raving about how she pulled an all-nighter, oh-my-gawding and chain smoking on a sorority house balcony.  She gestured with her bobbly, blonde head to Brian and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s buying.”

Anna quirked an eyebrow at Brian and he shrugged lazily, the subtlest of eye rolls. 

As she turned to prepare the most stereotypical white girl drink ever, Anna allowed herself a hidden smile at Brian’s blatant disinterest—though she wondered if disinterest had any bearing over sleeping with this girl anyway. She made a mental note to use bleach on the surface where Blondie’s stupid, humongous breasts had been.

“Listen, man, you teach me everything you know about the drums and I’ll let you see my girl naked,” Jack replied, dangling his phone in front of Jimmy.

Anna felt the heat inflame her cheeks before fully registering his words, humiliation and shock infiltrating her temporary happiness.

“Jack,” she warned. What she endured in private was one thing, but he had never blatantly exploited her in front of another human being. Her stomach turned; she hadn’t even known this group of new friends for 3 hours and already looked foolish and weak. 

“What?” he laughed haughtily. “You know I’m kidding, babe. Don’t be a buzzkill.” That word again. 

“I’ll have to rain check that one,” Jimmy said, catching Anna’s eye and seeming to understand the line they were toeing. “This crazy-haired broad with red lipstick has been eye-fucking me all night and I’ve got literally no standards right now.“

Anna laughed as Jimmy eyed Brenda, who was indeed undressing him with her eyeliner-smudged eyes, looking for a second chance for bad decisions since Tony had gone home to his wife. “Oh God, Jimmy. No.” She owed him for redirecting the conversation. 

“Too late!” With this, he sprang forward and honed in on likely not the worst decision he’d ever made.

Anna shook her head and, purposely not facing her boyfriend, picked up the wash rag, wiping the smudges and spilled alcohol off the bar top with more conviction than usual. Jack leaned in close again, sliding his fingers up her arm and gently tugging her toward him, his eyes glowing in the mood lighting with a feverish intensity. She felt his breath sway the tendrils of hair around her neck as he brought his lips to her ear. 

“I’d like to see you naked,” he whispered. “Come home with me tonight.”

As taken aback as she was by Jack’s earlier distasteful comment, she ached from his proposition. With his instability came a lack of intimacy; she could not recall the last time he had touched her with the intent of making her shiver with desire instead of fear. So many nights spent with her own fingers, wishing for his. Wishing for somebody’s. Her resolve weakened.

“You want to see me naked,” Anna echoed, unwilling to let his joke go unaddressed. “Apparently, a privilege you’d share?” 

“I’d kill anyone who tried,” he said, incongruous to his hooded eyes and seductive smirk. 

Anna cursed herself in that moment. She was a sucker for Jack. And hadn’t she always been? He’d pushed his way into her life, commandeered her heart and her mind, and somehow became the sole determining factor in every decision she made. Even still. Even after all of this chaos. _But he’s better now._ As painful as the last few months had been, she cared so deeply for this man and wanted to see that smile grace his face everyday. She wanted to be the reason for his smile in a life full of exams and hospitals and sickness. And God, did she miss feeling his body on hers. She prayed this would be their pivot point. The new beginning needed to rid themselves of these awful memories. 

_We are better now._

She took a deep breath, looking at him from beneath her lashes and nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll come home with you.”

         _________________________________

After Anna had wrapped her shift and said goodbye to Val and the guys, she climbed into her car and followed Jack back to his apartment. She smiled to herself on the drive, looking forward to regaining a sense of normalcy in their relationship. Med school would make anybody lose their mind a little and Jack had such lofty aspirations for himself. The insanity that had possessed him earlier that week was not indicative of his heart; the heart that wanted more than anything to help and cure. 

When they arrived, Jack was out of his car and at her door faster than she could blink. She couldn’t help but feel flattered, her stomach unleashing a few butterflies at the idea of reigniting their intimacy. Her pent up frustration with his unstable mindset disintegrated as she stepped out of her car, gazing up at him demurely with a challenge in her eyes. His pupils swallowed his irises as returned her grin, nodding his head toward the apartment building and teasingly waggling his eyebrows at her. The peek at his silliness twisted her insides bittersweetly. He grabbed her hand and led her through his front door. 

No sooner than the door was shut, his mouth was on hers, rough and commanding. His hands pushed her shirt up impatiently, rising to palm her breasts over her bra. 

“Take this off. I want to see you,” he instructed, his voice gritty and dripping with lust. He backed Anna against the wall, guiding her shirt over her head, then fumbled to unclasp her bra. As it fell to the ground, his wet kisses journeyed to her cheek. To her jaw, then her ear, his stubble scraping its way across her skin. She tried to ignore the sour stench of alcohol filling her nose as he breathed heavily. She tilted her head back, granting him access to the sensitive skin of her neck in an attempt to evade the suffocating smell. She could feel him straining against his jeans as he inched closer, his large fingers groping her skin urgently. Jack’s hands trailed up her chest to her neck, grazing the area he’d injured so few days prior. Panic seized her and she sucked in a breath, the pressure from his fingers sending a jolt of pain through her body. A lump formed in her throat as she sprang into action. Her fingers instinctively grabbed his wrists and pushed them away.

_Defuse. De-escalate.  
He’s going to hurt me. _

“What’s wrong?” Concern filled his eyes as they searched hers. He held out his hands to her, palms up. Whether to make evident that he wasn’t a threat or because he resented his hands being shoved from her body, she didn’t know. Her mouth was parched, her tongue sandpaper, and she couldn’t find the words to answer his question. He blinked, chest rising and falling with obvious impatience.

_He is better now._ She shook her head in reply and once again kissed him, guiding his hands to her hips to divert the attention away from her neck. His teeth knocked against hers as his tongue probed her mouth deeper and he breathed an apology. His hands slid back to cup her bottom, then moved his fingers to clutch the back of her thighs. As he picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist, never breaking their mess of tongues and lips as he strode toward the bedroom. 

Muttering a curse as he tripped over any number of articles of clothing littering his floor, Jack half-dropped Anna onto the bed. As he climbed back to his feet, Anna spared a glance around the darkened bedroom. The air was musty, as if he’d not done laundry or opened a window in weeks. The red digits from his alarm clock read 4:47, an unsettling glow illuminating the various items lining his nightstand: dented energy drink cans, crumpled tissues, a couple credit cards. Against her palm, she felt the coarse stitching of his bare mattress, the fitted sheet covering only half his bed. 

Clutter. Disorder. _Who is this person?_

His belt buckle jingled as he unfastened and let his pants fall to the floor. The mattress dipped as she felt him climbing up the foot of the bed. He kneeled over her and tugged her pants down, exposing her lacy underwear. Nausea roiled deep in her belly, the downward breeze from his ceiling fan chilling the beads of sweat that erupted on her forehead. She felt his fingers wrapping around her calves as he knelt in front of her supine body, gesturing them apart. Without realizing it, she had locked her knees together the moment he’d bared her legs. Realization struck her like a blow to the face, blood draining from her cheeks as she began to shiver. 

_I do not want this._

Her trembling did nothing to deter Jack, as he surely recalled how she would tremble just before climaxing. He smiled, encouraged by her quivering lip and erratic breathing. Her heart was a caged bird, his bedroom a prison. The tag from her underwear gently scraped the back of her right leg as he dragged them down, the last remaining barrier between them. Anna could not drive the impulse to flee from her mind. She could not barricade the panic, the knowledge that this man had unrestricted access to her body and her exposed skin. Her as-of-yet unharmed skin. 

Nothing about it felt natural or effortless. She wanted more than anything to run, to disappear from California, from the planet. Her heart pounded at the thought of him lashing out, should she ask him to stop. She couldn’t gauge his mental state. The lump in her throat threatened to obstruct her airway completely as she attempted to regulate her breathing. For a split second, she wished it would. It would be a kindness. If he lost control again, no one would hear her. No one could save her. 

As she felt him push inside, tears welled up in her eyes and she was grateful for the darkness. She shut them tightly and shut herself inside her mind where she could forget that the man inside her had marked her skin and damaged her in so many ways. Barely schooling her features, she willed herself to disappear. Time became nothing.

Large brown eyes.  
The curve of a colorfully etched bicep.  
A husky, tenor chuckle slipping out of lips quirked in a half-smile.

Jack’s hands became Brian’s, attentively exploring her skin, desperately needing to claim every inch of her.   
Jack’s mouth became Brian’s, kissing softly over her bruises, healing them.   
Jack’s flesh became Brian’s, the rigid heat of him driving into her, his only purpose being her pleasure.  
She became Brian’s.

And for a moment in time, she was okay. 

And when Jack was finished and snoring softly next to her, as the sun began to peek above the horizon filtering pink and orange hues through his blinds, dust motes whirling lazily in the ceiling fan’s breeze, Anna wept.


	8. Chapter Eight

“Wait, he peed on your arm? Like, literal urine?” Val’s face was a picture of disgust as she thought better of sipping the mimosa during Anna’s nursing school horror stories. 

California truly shined on days like that Friday. The girls had chosen patio seating at a cafe in Huntington Beach, offering shade from the hot afternoon sun. Lush grapevines snaked their way up the columns of the pergola and around the wooden slats above, providing an air of dream-like seclusion as white paper lanterns hung from above. Blue and violet hydrangeas decorated the centerpiece. It seemed almost insulting to discuss bodily fluids in such an atmosphere.

“Straight up urinated right on my sleeve,” Anna nodded, completely unfazed as she finished off her second mimosa of the afternoon. It had been a grueling week of clinical and she’d been assigned to a cardiac floor for her third semester, the hardest rotation yet. Friday mornings meant she got to sleep in, which pushed their breakfast date back to brunch. Friday also meant she worked that night, so she decided to front-load her day drinking to be sober enough to drive back for her shift. “It’s dirty work, but it’s so rewarding, Val. Ultimately, I want to get my degree in midwifery and deliver babies. Can you imagine?”

Her friend smiled dreamily, nodding her agreement as she closed her eyes and bobbed her head rhythmically to the piano music filling the air. 

“This feels surreal, you know,” Val mused, thumbing the crimson lipstick mark off her glass before taking a sip, rendering the action pointless. “Being back in town after touring for so long. Being able to meet up with my long lost friend for brunch on a Friday afternoon and hearing all about how she’s going to deliver the next president or Nobel Prize winner. I’m so proud of you, Anna. You’ve grown from this sweet girl who needed help straightening a ballet tutu to this self-assured, powerhouse of a woman who wants to save lives and birth babies. I admire you and your stability so much.”

Val grasped Anna’s hands from across the table and squeezed tightly as she smiled, eyes glistening. The sincerity in her friend’s words sent an inexplicable twinge through Anna’s heart and she couldn’t meet Val’s eyes in that moment. Having her accomplishments recited as if she had her life together made it all feel counterfeit, but she couldn’t tell Val that. The girls had dived deep into nostalgia that afternoon, exchanging memories of their childhoods into early teenage years, giggling over first kisses and crushes, struggles with parents and the strife of parting ways when they needed each other most. The band was exploding into the rock music scene and Anna couldn’t imagine raining on Val’s parade tight now. Nothing puts a damper on a perfect day like: _my boyfriend has anger management problems and choked me to the point of unconsciousness last week and I’m trying to devise a way to end it without getting myself killed. Pass the muffins, please._

“Jack seems so great for you,” Val continued, unknowingly twisting the knife. “A doctor and a nurse. You guys are like a prime time TV show scandal-turned-fairy tale. God, and he’s gorgeous. I’d watch that show religiously.” 

“Who is gorgeous? I’ll murder him,” a gravelly voice threatened from the sidewalk just beyond the bannister. 

Anna’s throat tightened at the words, but her shoulders relaxed once she saw Matt’s playful, dimpled grin. In that moment, he was her savior and the smile she gave him bordered on psychotic. He effortlessly hopped over the railing and made his way toward them. Val rose to wrap her arms around him and he picked her up by the waist, swinging her around dramatically and planting a sweet kiss on her lips, oblivious to the lipstick that now stained his lips. Anna looked away from their tender moment, trying to curb the envy that threatened to pull down her smile. But she did make a mental note to ask her friend where she purchased such bulletproof lipstick. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Val replied sweetly as he sat backwards in the chair next to them. “And Anna’s gorgeous. And Huntington Beach is gorgeous. We’re home and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Two more shows and we can settle the fuck down for a minute,” chimed in Matt. “We were actually just on the way to the venue to meet the Berry’s. You’re coming to our last show tomorrow night, right Anna?” 

“Hell yeah, she’s coming to the show!” exclaimed a jubilant voice from behind Anna. “Front and center, right in the pit, tossing motherfuckers like the beast she is.” 

Anna turned to see Jimmy and Brian making their way from the restaurant’s main building. A few onlookers from neighboring tables shot dirty looks at such language before turning back to their tea. Jimmy wore slim, silver-framed glasses and breakaway athletic pants with loafers. _Loafers._ Brian wore a beanie with skulls on it, aviators hiding his eyes and Anna couldn’t decide if it was a shame or a mercy. He smiled warmly at her, stirring something deep in her at the memory of how his hands felt on her. At least, his imaginary hands on her. 

“What’s up, pretty ladies?” Jimmy plopped down next to Anna, casually pulling one of her loose curls taut and watching it bounce back in place. “You’ll be there though, right?”

“I have to work tomorrow night,” she replied with a sad smile. Their waitress approached the table and Anna ordered another mimosa for she and Val. Matt requested water, while Brian and Jimmy ordered a Bloody Mary for themselves. 

“You can’t take a night off?” asked Matt. “It would be cool to have you there. God knows Val is dying for some female company after touring with our raunchy asses for the last year.”

“Yes to estrogen!” cheered Jimmy. “I’m tired of us, too. It’s a sausage fest.”

“Oh my God, yes. Please say you’ll come tomorrow. I can’t believe I didn’t say something sooner! I can arrange seats with the arena; I think there are still some available. As much as I love these guys, they smell after awhile. You’d literally be a breath of fresh air.” Val clasped her hands together, begging and giving Anna her best sad puppy eyes. Jimmy folded his hands as he swung around to Val’s side, his pouty lip quivering dramatically.

“You should come. We put on a hell of a show,” Brian said as he removed his aviators and folded the hinge into the plunging neckline of his shirt, chuckling at his friends’ antics. 

_Goddamn his v-necks._ His chest and bicep flexed as he pulled off his beanie, fingers mussing his black hair before securing his hat into place once more. His arms were a hurricane of color: monsters and demons encircled them, wrist to bicep—repulsive things that did nothing to repel her. Anna wondered if it would be so indecent to reach over the table and lift the delicate fabric of his sleeve to see the secret skin that lay beneath. Dazed, she nipped her bottom lip with her teeth in an effort to keep her jaw from falling slack. He darted a look at her quickly—imperceptibly even, for anyone who wasn’t gawking at his body like a preteen—before a sharp exhale escaped his lips, the corner of his mouth in a half-smirk. No, not just an exhale; a laugh. He was _laughing_ at her. _He knows what he’s doing._ Liquid courage coursing through her veins, Anna could not contain her overwhelming desire to knock him down, his delicious muscles be damned.

“You know,” she began nonchalantly, sipping her drink for backup. “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually heard any of your songs.”

“Critical hit!” cried Jimmy, clutching his chest and falling back in his chair, limbs dangling loosely at his sides in defeat. 

“Ouch,” Matt joked—maybe joked—after a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. Val lightly smacked his chest and shook her head, signaling it wasn’t a big deal. 

Anna’s hands instinctively clamped over her mouth, wishing she could shove her foot in instead. “Oh god, that’s not how I meant it. I’m sure you guys are great, it’s just not normally what I—“ 

The waitress returned with their drinks, earning the title as Anna’s second savior of the day. As Brian reached for his Bloody Mary, Anna couldn’t help but notice his hands. She’d dreamt of them the other night, sure, but her subconscious failed her severely. Long, slender fingers wrapped around the glass as he brought it to his lips for a drink. Somehow, they were both delicate and powerful simultaneously.

“Maybe you’ll like what you hear. And what you see.” Brian said, a secret smile on his face and a taunting emphasis on see. Sliding his sunglasses on to conceal those eyes, he plucked the toothpick out of his Bloody Mary, tugging off the olive with his teeth. “I’m sure you’d prefer The Jonas Brothers or something, but we‘ll try our best. Just come to the show, Sinclair. Live a little and so on.” 

_The Jonas Brothers? This arrogant, magnificent bastard._

Val looked up from furiously thumbing her phone, a triumphant smile in place. “Done. You’ve got two VIP seats booked for tomorrow night. Non-refundable.”

Anna’s eyebrows knitted together. “But I haven’t pai—“

“Potato, po-TAH-toe,” dismissed Val with a wave. “You’re coming because you love me, then you’re partying with us at Johnny’s Saloon afterward. You’ve worked your ass off all year! When is the last time you’ve let yourself go? Like, _really_ enjoyed yourself?”

The question struck a nerve, because Anna truly couldn’t answer. With the constant work and school rotation, plus keeping Jack at bay, and now attempting to break free from the shackles that bound her to him, personal enjoyment fell to the back burner. Or had fallen off completely, charred and shriveled and discarded.

“Screw it,” Anna said as she downed her last mimosa of the day, though it was anyone’s guess which “it” she meant. “You know what? Count me in. I’ll take a mental health day.” She immediately regretted how much she sounded like Jack. 

Jimmy’s arms shot in the air as he grinned from ear to ear. Matt high-fived Val’s waiting, victorious palm. Brian nodded his approval at her surrender. 

“Prepare your ears for glory, Annie,” Jimmy gloated, their empty glasses rattling as he drummed the table with a fork and spoon. “It’s time you got your first taste of Avenged Sevenfold and The Reverend Tholomew Plague. Dr. Jack can have my sticks. He’ll piss himself. Maybe I’ll transfer some badassness his way. Fuckin’ drumstick osmosis or some shit.”

And just like that, Anna’s heart crash landed into her stomach, quaking her to the bone. She was certain everyone around her could feel the aftershocks, but no one batted an eye. Across the table, Jimmy and Matt had launched into a conversation about the set list and Val had stepped away to take a phone call. To her right, Brian slung an arm over the back of his chair, turning his attention to a man playing saxophone across the street from the restaurant. 

Anna’s phone buzzed in her lap.

Jack: _Where are you?_

Jesus, had he _heard_ them? Sweeping her long curtain of hair to one side to conceal her sudden deflation from Val, Anna busied her fingers with her curls as any number of irrational thoughts bombarded through her brain. She’d managed to avoid him all week, juggling finals and sleep and clinical as excuses to keep him away. He was busy, too, but he always snaked his way over to check on her. Even if his mental state did seem to have improved, she could not stomach another sexual encounter with him. The damage was done and it was written all over her body language. Without realizing it, her fingers had found their way to her neck, the bruises faded to a sickly yellow. 

The saxophone screeched and Anna snapped her head up, jolted from her thoughts. The man across the street cackled jovially as he shrugged, seeming to say “hey, what can you do?” before he resumed playing. Matt and Jimmy were still deep in conversation, an empty mug with red, gritty residue that did, in fact, look like blood in front of them. Jimmy gesticulated wildly before realizing his drink was empty, then reached over to snatch Brian’s while he wasn’t looking. 

And he wasn’t looking.   
Because he was facing her.

His brows knitted together as a frown contorted his lips. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, his stare still burned holes through her and she couldn’t figure out why. Shoulders tense, he tipped his chin at her subtly, then cocked his head. An inquiry. 

The bruises had faded, but they were still there. Unmistakable fingerprints that she couldn’t fully conceal with makeup. The four yellow-brown blotches just below her right ear pulsed, sensing his prying eyes. Anna all-too-casually let her hair fall back over her neck and gave him a small smile, an attempt at levity. The crease between his brows deepened. Clearing her throat, she conjured up as much bravado as she could muster. 

“Speaking of the Jonas Brothers, do you wear a purity ring, Synyster Gates?”

_____________

 

Brian was not here for this bullshit.   
And he was not an idiot.

There was a reason he’d subconsciously pictured Jack as he trained Jiu Jitsu all week, taking down opponent after opponent with surprising ease. That reason. He realized, was written all over Anna’s neck. Touring had taken a toll on his training regimen—he was a purple belt, so he was no rookie—and he still trained sporadically on the road, but he was not nearly as practiced as he’d like. The brute strength and skill he cranked out that week shocked even him. Anything to smash that ridiculous number of teeth. As relieved as he was to get into his old routine, to welcome that physical outlet, a dark cloud hung over him since he’d returned that night. It had followed him out of that alley, lingered in the back of his mind, never letting him relax into his normal, carefree self. 

The darkness erupted from his fists and legs as he jabbed, kicked, choked his way to victory again and again, until any remaining challengers suddenly thought better of opposing him. 

Even with his friends, he was on edge. They had given him shit all week for snapping so easily. 

“Reel in the brooding teenager bullshit and go get your dick sucked. Maybe ZV will help you out. He’s got the DSLs of the group,” Johnny snapped at Brian after he’d screwed up the fifth time during rehearsal. 

Zack pegged Johnny in the back of the head with his half-empty water bottle. “You sad   
no one will suck your leprechaun dick?” 

Which, of course, set off a pissing contest amongst his friends in which Brian couldn’t be bothered to participate. The moment Jimmy picked up Johnny to use his head to playfully—and repeatedly—smash the crash cymbal, Brian stepped out for a smoke.

Getting laid wasn’t a bad idea, really. It’d been months. The bottle blonde from the other night practically begged for it, but he’d have failed to get hard at all after witnessing Jimmy and Jack in the bathroom that night at the bar—the latter bent over the sink, snorting line after line of blow. It wasn’t an out of the ordinary scene in his lifestyle, but the sight of this straightedge-looking motherfucker clamoring for cocaine like a near-drowning victim greedy for oxygen...it didn’t add up.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Jimmy had asked, laughing at his rigor. 

“Smells like it always does. Thanks, man, I needed a pick me up. This is good shit, too. You’ve gotta hook me up with your guy.” Jack popped up with that super-sized grin on his face, handing the rolled up $20 bill back to Jimmy as he inspected his nose in the mirror. “Am I all right?” An old pro. And training to be a doctor, in a twist of irony.

“Yeah, she’ll never know,” replied Jimmy, crouching down to confirm. 

Jack clasped his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Gates, you want in?” _Like it‘s his fucking coke. This asshole._

Brian held up a palm to decline, avoiding eye contact so he wasn’t tempted to knock him out. “Nope. Just here to piss.” 

A coke problem was one thing. Putting your hands on a woman was another. 

And Anna had no fucking idea.

Despite her attempt to disarm him with cute little quips about his long dead virginity, Anna had baggage. She also had long, luxurious hair he wanted to bury his face in and a waist he could likely wrap his hands around entirely, fingertips to thumb tips. Not to mention she had an ass that was tight and plump and perfect, but that was beside the point.

The point was that the inexplicable wrongness which haunted him all week was building to a head, he could feel it. It permeated into this beautiful afternoon at this perfect brunch before their last two shows. Here, where this beautiful girl— _about whom I know practically nothing except that she has bruises on her neck that might be the result of an asphyxiation fetish which would be kind of hot but then why do I feel so fucking wrong_ —sat with overwhelming sadness in her eyes no matter how she tried to suppress it while a jaunty rendition of “Isn’t She Lovely” played on the sax, ironically.

Goddamnit, she was.


	9. Chapter Nine

“How do I look?” Anna twirled around, her mid-length skirt billowing as she danced around her bedroom, snapping her fingers and swaying her hips to a dance song on the radio. Shimmying over to Maria, she snatched a slice of cheddar cheese and a cracker from Maria’s plate. As she took a bite, crumbs peppered the page of magazine Maria was reading. Maria’s brown eyes peered up scornfully before she wiped the crumbs away and resumed thumbing through the pages. 

“Like a dead woman,” she replied flatly. “And like you’re going to a Sunday picnic with your grandma, not a rock concert.”

Anna narrowed her eyes and shot her friend a sardonic smirk. She spun back around to look at her reflection: she paired a sleeveless, button-up chambray top with a gauzy white skirt. She looked nice. Grandma’s approval wasn’t such a bad thing, anyway.

“First off,” Anna began, ticking off her fingers as she counted. “I’ve never called in sick before, so I’m still very much alive. Second, you’re off tonight, so you have nothing to bitch about. And third, almighty Fashion Wench, what does one wear to a rock concert?” 

“Eyeliner. Gold hoops. Black. Low necklines. Show some _tetas._ That would make Sexy Guitar Guy squirm.” A devious grin crept across Maria’s face as she swept her midnight-colored hair up in a top knot. Anna knew she meant business once the top knot came into play—Maria’s equivalent of a mechanic rolling up their sleeves. “Listen, just give me the reins. I will make you erupt. When I’m finished, you’ll be so scorching, you will give hard-ons that could drill through a mountain.”

Anna blinked several times. “A little heavy on the imagery, Maria. Also, terrifying.”

She did, however, spare a few extra seconds thinking about whatever Brian had in his pants. Ever since the night he starred in her escapist fantasy—truthfully, ever since the night they met—she couldn’t pull her mind away from the idea of him. She understood it was likely just a result of being in this toxic relationship for so long, but she was human and, well, he was beautiful. And infuriating. And completely narcissistic. And very much not hers. In fact, she would bet good money that after he saw the bruises, she was nothing but a human red flag.

As far as she’d distanced herself from Jack emotionally, she still hadn’t mustered the courage to end it. Most of her free time that week had been devoted to researching security systems, restraining orders, and obtaining a permit to carry a concealed weapon. She needed out, but first she needed a safe place to end it and a plan for self-preservation afterward. Unfortunately, she had no solid plan for any of these things.

“No matter how hard you’re pushing Sexy Guitar Guy, I have a boyfriend and he’s picking me up in an hour,” Anna reminded Maria. And herself.

Maria fell back onto Anna’s bed with a huff, loosing out a string of Spanish expletives under her breath. 

“And even if I didn’t have a boyfriend,” Anna continued, stepping out of her skirt. “Sexy Guitar Guy could have his pick of any woman in California. I guarantee a starry-eyed bartender isn’t high on his ‘To Do’ list.” 

“Oh, stop with the white girl pity party. I saw how he looked at you. There’s no mistaking that kind of fire.” Maria’s head popped up, donning another mischievous smile. “Wait, did you just admit he’s got you starry-eyed?”

Anna threw her skirt over Maria’s head, if for no other reason than to hide her own rotten, lying face. 

A chime across the room alerted a text message. Anna strode bottomless to retrieve her phone from her computer desk as Maria began rifling through Anna’s closet.

_I’ve got some errands to run before the show,_ read a text from Jack. _I’ll have to meet you there. Can Maria drop you off?_

Closing her eyes, Anna held her phone to her chest for a moment before turning around. Waves of varying emotions crested through her; she felt each of them playing out across her face, an open book as usual. Irritation at Jack’s selfishness—she was the one who got the tickets and he had the gall to inconvenience her at her last minute to appease himself. Relief that she didn’t have drive with him. After all, less time spent with Jack was less time playing the actress. But just underneath the surface, a muddied emotion gripped her core. It undulated and bloomed, eclipsing any other feelings she’d registered as she realized that this— _this_ —was her pivot point.

This was it. This was her out. She felt it rising from the soles of her feet, gathering as much strength as possible before planting itself firmly in her chest, radiating light and heat and the promise of freedom.

She ran through her strengths to gain forward momentum. Riding with him was no longer an obligation. Stereotypically a coward move, breaking up over the phone with a physically abusive boyfriend ensured she was safe while she did said breaking. She would stay with Maria tonight as backup. She had her own place, her own income—financially and academically, she was self-sufficient. 

Today, she absolved herself from this nightmare. 

Today, her life would be chronicled into Before and After, and she would not be defined by what Jack had done to her in between. I am not what he made me.

A strange tug-of-war on her heart began as she considered the finality of it; the love lost, the friendship lost. The first year with Jack had been a dream, as the honeymoon phase always tended to be. He had a dominating personality, but she didn’t mind him taking the lead. She loved him. But as time passed, something in Jack had rotted him insidiously, from core to surface. As much as she had shouldered the task of keeping him afloat, she could not let herself drown in the process. She would not. She would overcome. 

_I will soar._

After securing the resolve inside herself, Anna turned to Maria, shoulders squared and resolute. Exhaling, she released all the carbon dioxide and anxiety she'd harbored for the last 60 seconds. Anna thought a minute was a very insignificant amount of time to make such a life-altering decision, but if it came that quickly, it was certainly the correct one.

“Okay, so I’m stuck between shredding this black shirt and—“ Maria emerged from Anna’s closet with an armful of fabric, but abruptly shut her mouth as she took in Anna’s expression. “What are you doing with your face?”

“I’m ending it with Jack. Right now.”

——————————————

Maria had stepped outside to give Anna some privacy during her phone call—possibly to act as guard dog as well, but Anna would take all the support she could get. Maria knew Jack was difficult, but Anna hadn’t confessed the full extent of Jack’s physical abuse yet, but thought it’d set a dark tone for a night out with her friend. Maria happily accepted her invitation to the concert and, even though she promised she’d be on her best behavior, Anna could see the gears turning in her head, muttering something about “rebound sex” as she exited the apartment. 

The droning ring of the outgoing call tone in her ear buzzed along with every nerve ending in her body. Against all anatomical logic, Anna was certain that her heart had beat its way into her trachea, constricting both blood flow and oxygenation. She could not stifle the trembling of her hands. The cool metal of her phone slipped in her hand. Raising a shoulder to hold the phone to her ear, she wiped her clammy palm onto her bedspread.

“Yeah?” Jack answered gruffly. She could hear the turbulent wind blowing into his speaker. He was driving; he was irritated. He always hated when she would call instead of returning his text messages. 

“Hey, sorry for calling,” she quickly conceded, immediately scolding herself for apologizing. _You have nothing to be sorry for._ She cleared her throat and steadied her voice. “Um, listen. Tonight isn’t a good idea.”

No reply. Only the remote bustle of traffic and roaring of the breeze against the speaker. 

Her heart thrashed even quicker at his silence, but she continued. “And not just tonight. This...we haven’t been good for a long time. I can’t continue pretending this is healthy for either of us. You’ve put your hands on me, Jack. You’ve left bruises on me.”

More silence. A deep breath. The crunching of gravel and the shift of a gear. The abrupt shutting off of an engine. _Maybe he won’t respond at all, Anna thought. Maybe he’s so angry that he’ll just spontaneously implode and all his atoms and molecules will just float into oblivion, never to be seen or heard again._

“Are you finished?” 

Anna didn’t quite know what he was asking. Was she finished talking? Was she finished with the relationship? She thought she’d made herself quite clear, but tended to be better at thinking than speaking. “P-Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘are you finished?’” he repeated, a clipped edge to his consonants. “I told you that I have errands to run before I meet you there. Had I known there’d be a tantrum, I’d have thought better of it. Really, Anna, I don’t have time for this today. It’s been an overwhelming day at the hospital and you’re making it worse. This little emotional outburst is beyond inconvenient.” 

Her chest tightened as he chided her. Every reflex in her screamed to cave, to give in. It’s what she‘d always done. Keep quiet, keep your head down, do what you’re told, don’t make him mad. Don’t make him hurt you. 

“I am not what you made me,” she whispered, more to herself than anything. 

“What?”

“This is not a tantrum. It is not an emotional outburst,” she declared, firm and resolute. “I am leaving you, Jack. And I am serious.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Anna.” A humorless laugh punctuated the syllables of her name. A cruel laugh. She saw him in her mind’s eye: that furrowed brow, that disdainful snarl. She bet his fingers were clenched into his shaggy hair, tugging slightly. That was always his tell, right before he exploded.

She chewed her thumbnail absentmindedly, wishing she could fast forward to an hour, a day, a year from now. She chose to bite her tongue, hoping her silence said more than she ever could.

“So, this is it?” Jack spat, his tone became unsteady as the volume increased. “Here I am, busting my ass to make our lives better—to make your life better—but you insist on fucking things up for me. What, do you think now that Valary’s home, she’ll get sentimental and want to keep you around? Newsflash, Anna: you’re a bartender and a nursing student. You’re nothing. She’s managing a band that tours the whole fucking world. She will leave you in the dust. She doesn’t give a shit about you. None of them do. I am the only one who cares about you. You need _me.”_

Anna’s vision clouded more with every word as the blood pumping through her veins echoed in her eardrums. Her cold, numb fingers gripped the phone so tightly, she heard the metal creak under her grip. Feeling her chest hollow out with each of his words, she wondered if he was right. She was just a bartender and a student—a struggling student, at that. Her one bedroom apartment was always drafty and the front door jammed. The check engine light illuminated the dash of her 2001 Corolla and every car ride tempted fate; every day she begged just one more hassle-free trip from it. She used drugstore makeup and probably couldn’t afford even one application of Val’s lipstick. Probably no one else would even think it worthwhile to stick around. Her pathetic job and pathetic life didn’t hold a candle to a rockstar boyfriend. And yet...

_I am not what he made me._

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she countered, her voice defiant and clear as a bell, her fingers clenched and primed to snap the phone shut. “I don’t need anyone.”

—————————————-

“There is no way in hell you can chug this beer—no hands—in 10 seconds.” Jimmy held up a 22oz bomber bottle of Heineken and swung it like a pendulum in Brian’s face.

The two guys were gathered in the common area outside the dressing rooms of Long Beach Convention Center. Despite the fact that they’d all had the opportunity to shower, California had been uncharacteristically humid that day and the air conditioner was clearly struggling to regulate the humidity. The band tended to be humble and hated asking for additional accoutrements. Val, however, had no problem calling the shots and requested various box and table fans to be brought in. 

Johnny and Zack had gone to the concession area to get some bottled water and ice cream while Matt, oddly grossed out by excessive sweat, opted to take another shower.

For Jimmy, that just meant a higher inclination to seek out ice cold beers.

Heaving a laugh, Brian leveled Jimmy with a glare that said “you’re kidding.” He was never one to back down from a challenge—especially when that challenge involved libations. Brian set his black and white Schechter down gently, then stood and cracked his neck and knuckles. “I can drink it in 10 seconds with no hands and shove it up your ass with no hands, too.” 

“Val and Shads, we need your lube!” Jimmy shouted with a laugh, popping the cap off with his lighter and setting it down on a nearby table. In Brian’s memory, there was never once a time when they’d taken the stage sober. Never sloppily drunk, but never completely sober, either. If he were being honest, the alcohol helped the tightness in his chest loosen up a bit while on stage. By this point, they’d played for probably hundreds of thousands of kids, but an inkling of stage fright never went away fully. He knew he was incredible, but that didn’t mean he wanted his nerves to fuck him up. 

Jimmy’s cell phone chirped a text alert, but he ignored it in favor of summoning their friends from the locker room. Zack and Johnny walked into the room and immediately demanded to participate. Within seconds, Jimmy had opened three bottles and lined them up in front of them while Brian, Zack, and Johnny were all knelt down, waiting for the green light. Their efforts were in vain, of course, because even though Zacky had weirdly powerful-looking lips, Brian had no gag reflex whatsoever and would win this, no contest. And Johnny just talked a lot of shit.

Just then Matt walked into the room, a towel around his waist, and tossed a small bottle at Jimmy. “Keep it,” Matt chuckled. “I don’t even want to know.”

As it landed in his hands, Jimmy’s eyes widened once he recognized it: KY Jelly. “Shit. Gates, I’m not ready to pop my ass cherry.”

“Jesus Christ,” groaned Brian, shaking his head. “Just count us down, idiot!”

Jimmy’s phone continued to chirp. He continued to ignore it. “So many bitches, so little time,” he joked. 

Brian was not aware of any bitches, but given the amount of times a girl or two...or three...would sneak out of his bunk, he wouldn’t be surprised if Jimmy was literally manufacturing them. 

“Gentlemen, hands behind your backs,” began Jimmy, tossing the lube behind the ratty plaid couch. “On my count: 1...2...3...drink!”

Brian bowed his head and wrapped his mouth around the bottle neck, locating the ridges and attempting to find the right balance of suction and teeth to grip the bottle firmly enough to tip it back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zack already lifting the bottle up to his right. Fuck him and his stupid fellating lips. _I knew he should’ve been a chick._ Brian tested his hold on the bottle; it didn’t budge. Perfect. He turned his face toward the ceiling as he let the bottle slide further down a bit, then opened his throat and began to chug. 

Jimmy had began his count about one second prior, once Zack had begun drinking. “2...3...4...5... dude, I can’t count because you guys are giving me the weirdest boner right now.”

At that, Zack sprayed beer out of his mouth, his coughs threatening to overpower his laughs. Brian was pretty sure Johnny had just picked up the beer with his hands and meandered over the to couch by that point. The carbonation burned his throat going down so quickly, but still, he drank. _Gulp. Gulp. Gulp._ Brian took the empty bottle and slammed it down on the table, a slight crack etching the glass from the impact. 

“Victory is mine, assholes!” announced Brian. He picked up Zack’s bottle and finished off what was left to drive home the win, then clapped his recovering friend on the back. “It was a decent try, ZV. I get it. Jimmy’s erection is distracting.” 

He turned to Johnny. “Can’t hang, Christ?”

“I’m just here to drink and play bass,” Johnny shrugged, his newly blond and black Mohawk standing tall as he took a swig of his beer. With his other hand, he reached over to the table next to him, switching on on a rusted table fan. “Jesus, you guys radiate too much body heat. It’s the last show and I‘m ready for the break.”

Brian knew exactly what he meant. The set last night had been amazing, but they were all tired and losing steam. The lure of being back in California only magnified their desire to chill out, but their most loyal fans deserved a show that they’d never forget—he and his friends would deliver, as always. 

Freshly showered and donning his signature backwards baseball cap and aviators, Matt walked into the room—ever the frontman—and clapped his hands together. “Get amped, you guys! It’s our last show. We’re going to give these kids everything we’ve fucking got.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded from his friends, but Matt didn’t seem offended at the understated response—this was just the calm before the storm. The moment each of them stepped onto the stage, they came to life. The dry gusts of heat would explode from the pyrotechnics, the organ’s introductory chords for “Critical Acclaim” filling the air as Jimmy beat the life out of his drum set while Brian and Zacky dueled. Shadows’ scream would effectively resurrect their dormant alter egos, unleashing his powerful growl from the depths of whatever demonic underbelly his voice originated. 

Jimmy’s ringer signaled an incoming call. Brian watched his friend’s face darken as he glanced at the screen. “Hang tight, I’m gonna take this.” 

The moment Jimmy left the room, Val walked in with Anna Sinclair and the smoky brunette bartender from Diamond Bar in tow. He felt a strange, lifting sensation in his stomach and prayed it wasn’t the beer coming back up, because Jesus Christ. 

He regretted not jerking off earlier that day.

Unruly crimson ringlets that belonged in one of those girly shampoo commercials—or possibly on a siren luring him to some beautiful, horrible death—cascaded down her shoulders as she strode toward him. She wore some kind of black lacy shirt that tied around the back of her neck and showed absolutely no cleavage, but instead a small peek at the outer swell of her breast. Brian had never paid much mind to that half of a boob before but, as of that exact moment, it was his favorite part of the female body. Ever. He was not prepared for the side-boob and he sure as hell was not prepared for the leather pants that made her legs look a mile long, even though she was at least half foot shorter than he was. God, her thighs looked soft and slender and forbidden and he was one hundred percent jerking off tonight. 

Val introduced the bartender—Maria—to Matt, Zack, Johnny, and him and they all exchanged handshakes and pleasantries. It did not escape his notice that Maria was very much not Anna’s boyfriend. It also didn’t escape his notice that Maria watched her friend like a hawk as Anna leaned into Brian to greet him with a friendly side hug—it was obvious the two were thick as thieves. He felt light-headed as Anna’s fingers grazed his abdomen, gently squeezing his side, but surely the alcohol was to blame. Surely that was it. 

“Anna, you made it!” exclaimed Matt with a grin, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in greeting.

“Sorry to crash your warm up,” Anna replied with a smile. “Val invited us to come early, so I’m here for my first taste of heavy metal. I’m a pretty harsh judge, so I hope you’re up for the challenge.” She shot Brian a secret grin.

”I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Matt replied. “Glad to see you tracked down this basket case. She hasn’t sit still all day.”

Val shot her boyfriend a look. “Johnny was missing until noon today. Of course I lost my mind! How the hell do we function without our bassist?”

“Walk into a preschool and pull out a kid playing a tissue box guitar with yarn strings,” suggested Brian. He didn’t need to see Johnny’s middle finger to know it was there. “They’d hands down outperform Johnny.”

“Have you heard of projection, Mr. Gates?” Anna teased, a levity to her voice that hadn’t been there at brunch the day before.

“Hah!” Johnny guffawed from the hideous plaid couch, extending his arm to Anna as if handing her the game point. “Finally someone calls him on his shit.”

“You were at urgent care getting an STD test. I refuse to go easy on you just because you’ve got dick rot.” Brian pointed out. Turning to Anna and mirroring her eyebrow quirk, he bit back. “Projection? The only thing I’m projecting is raw, masterful talent tonight, sweetheart.”

“‘Sweetheart?’ The nerve of this one.” Anna remarked to no one in particular. She squared her body off with his, a hand on her hip in mock offense, though he could tell it was playful. Their banter felt a lot like the night they met, but easier. He stuck a Marlboro between his teeth and grinned at her, moving the cigarette back and forth with his tongue teasingly. Even as conversation buzzed around them—Matt and Zack sat around the table discussing which songs to perform for the encore while Val and Maria seemed to be deep in conversation, the latter of whom repeatedly glanced back at her friend—Anna zeroed in on only him, taunting him whether intentional or not. The rickety table fan oscillated toward them, rustling Anna’s curls and sucker punching him with her amber and vanilla scent.

“It’s a urinary tract infection, asshole,” Johnny interrupted, immediately souring the flirtation. “Just because it burns when I pee doesn’t mean it’s an STD. They test you as part of the workup. I need to drink more water.” He crossed his arms and pouted, muttering something about Jimmy and his big mouth.

“It’s true,” Anna chimed in. “Dysuria is a pretty vague symptom. The urgent care physicians need to do multiple tests to properly diagnose him and prescribe the appropriate antibiotic. And you probably shouldn’t be drinking that beer, my friend.” Johnny frowned, but obligingly threw it into the trash as he stood up to join Zack and Matt at the table. 

Brian saw his opportunity. He had to know. He lowered his voice so only Anna would hear. “Speaking of doctors, shouldn’t yours be here doing the diagnosing?” 

Her eyes glanced at the door quickly before dropping to the floor. Her hands made their way into the leather pockets, which really only fit her fingertips because her pants were so snug. “Jack won’t be coming.” 

A loaded statement, Brian realized. But now wasn’t the time.

“Then it’s settled,” Matt pushed off his knees as he stood up, concluding his conversation with the others. “We need to tear it up tonight. Nothing but perfection, dude. Gates, no fucking up. Johnny, no pee breaks. Zacky, I have absolutely nothing bad to say about you. You’re a goddamn superstar. Where’s Jimmy?”

“Present and ready to entertain.” Jimmy strode back into the room. Brian thought he might have imagined the flash of emotion across Jimmy’s face as his eyes landed on the newcomers, because a blink later, it was gone. He watched his best friend approach the girls, introducing himself to “the new love of his life sorry Annie you’ve been replaced,” all in the same breath. 

As mingling and conversation went on, the time for warmup drew near. Brian signaled Jimmy and Zack outside for a smoke break. Zack and Brian took a seat in the metal folding chairs they’d set up outside and Jimmy leaned back against the concrete wall of the arena.

Jimmy pulled three cigarettes out of the pack and stuck them all between his lips. He lit them in rapid succession and handed one to each of his friend. Resting his head against the brick and gazing up at his cloud of smoke, Jimmy sighed dreamily. “I think I’m gonna propose to Maria during the encore.”

Typical Jimmy with his heart on his sleeve, always. Zack choked on his laughter. “So quick to replace the redhead?”

“It never would’ve worked,” Jimmy replied with a wink. “I joke and fuck around and all, but she’s got a dude. And I think Dr. Jack’s got issues, man.“

Zack scoffed. “The understatement of the millennium.”

“Why do you say he’s got issues?” Brian inquired, even though the coke bender spoke for itself. He remained as casual as possible, not wanting to hint at his little infatuation. 

Jimmy considered this for a moment, blowing smoke rings in the silence. “He’s been calling and texting every goddamn day, begging me to ‘hook him up with my guy’. Says he needs it to stay focused, but I don’t know, man. And this guy’s trying to be a surgeon? I don’t need that shit on my conscience.”

“Is that who called before?” Brian asked.

“Yeah,” answered Jimmy, running a hand up and down the back of his neck. “He wanted to come up here earlier for more coke, but I told him my guy isn’t from around here,”—his “guy” was a friend of the Berrys’, but Brian knew Jimmy wouldn’t implicate anyone. Jimmy was quick to befriend, but he wouldn’t betray their inner circle for anything—“He got pissed. Like, _pissed._ I thought I was gonna shit myself when I saw Anna, but once I realized she wasn’t with Jack, I chilled out.”

Jimmy blew out a breath exasperatedly. “I thought he was cool, you know? Wanted to know everything about the band and touring and plans for future music. And yeah, I did a line with him last week at Diamond, but I don’t want to do that shit all the time. I’m not on that level and I think he is. Sucks. Thought I made a friend, too.” 

Jimmy kicked some pebbles frustratedly, like someone had just stepped on his Lego house. Brian was heartened by the innocent gesture, especially within the subject matter of illegal substances. 

“I guess it’s good that he’s not here, then,” Zack said, flicking his cigarette and rising to stand. “We don’t need his crazy ass ruining tonight.”

Brian pushed off his knees to stand as well. The jack-off boyfriend wasn’t coming tonight and he was about to do what he loved in front of thousands of kids who knew every word to every song he and his brothers had written. Excitement turned his stomach when he thought about how Anna would be watching him perform for the first time. He made a mental note to ask Val where her seats would be. Seeing the look on her face as his fingers flew over the fretboard would be priceless. He wanted to look her in the eye as nearly 14,000 people screamed his name.

_A perfect fucking night._

“Hell yeah,” Jimmy agreed, snapping out of his melancholy. He slung his lanky arms around Brian and Zack, hugging them close. “We’re gonna bring it down, guys. Let’s murder this. Then let’s drink and party and go get some fucking burritos. Extra jalapeños, no beans. I don’t want to be ripping ass all night. And then we need pick out tuxes because you shitheads are all going to be the best men at my wedding.”


	10. Chapter Ten

If there was ever a perfect way to distract oneself from a horrible breakup and persistent incoming calls from a psycho ex-boyfriend, it was experiencing an Avenged Sevenfold concert.

As the show neared its end, the band’s energy never dwindled. The lights lowered and the band walked offstage, leaving cacophonous applause in their wake. The haphazard cheers crescendoed into two distinct chants.

_“Sevenfold. Sevenfold. Sevenfold.”  
“We want more. We want more.”_

After several moments of darkness, the backdrop exploded with light, geysers of flames erupting from every direction and illuminating the riotous crowd. The band walked back out onto the stage, launching into their final song.

The air grew thick and heavy as the evening progressed, exacerbated by the thousands of sweaty, musty bodies bouncing and shoving to their favorite songs, but Anna didn’t care. She could’ve watched Brian forever.

With a voice that complementarily soared just above Matt’s, he sang a beautiful tenor harmony. Watching his fingers expertly speed over his guitar as if they had a mind of their own, her jaw fell slack. Arrogant as he was, Brian undersold himself. He was so, so painfully talented. He seemed to feed off the crowd’s energy, sticking out his tongue as he nailed each riff and playfully interacting with the fans closest to the stage. She and Maria were about 50ft from the edge of the stage, and Anna tried to suppress the sliver of envy of the fans in the pit—how they loved him, how they screamed for more, reaching to him in hopes of grasping his hand. She thought she saw his eyes searching in her direction a few times, but chalked it up to wishful thinking. The stage was his playground, these fans his kingdom.

She didn’t stand a chance.

********

After Maria had departed and Anna had arrived at Johnny’s Saloon—Val and Anna took her Corolla while Brian’s dad picked up the guys to go get Jimmy’s Suburban—Anna felt like an entirely new person. The concert atmosphere, the music rush, and riding the surrealistic wave of hanging with this entourage had all but erased Jack from her mind. Naturally, Val had asked about his absence upon the girls’ arrival to warm-up, but Anna casually explained that she and Jack were taking time apart so he could focus on med school. She breathed a sigh of relief when her friend didn’t press further, Val’s type-A personality was quick to redirect itself to minding the Ps and Qs of pre-show duties.

A thrill energy of energy jolted through Anna’s veins from top-to-toe as she strolled down the sidewalk toward the bar’s entrance, her arms looped with Val’s. She felt a happiness so all-encompassing that nausea struck her, like her body didn’t know how to process the sensation of joy. Anna loosed her arms from her friends’ as she strode ahead, stiletto heels clicking against the concrete as she pirouetted forward again and again with arms arched delicately above her head as she twirled.

“I never want this night to end,” she exclaimed in sing-song. “Tell me it doesn’t have to.”

“It doesn’t have to!” Val laughed loudly. Never to be outdone, she joined in with her flawless pirouettes. She and Val continued dancing and giggling drunkenly despite the fact that neither had touched any alcohol yet. The girls hadn’t seen each other in years and still fit together comfortably, like an old pair of shoes—albeit one shoe was primly coiffed and rhinestone-studded with killer lipstick.

“Okay, one last thing,” conceded Val. She crossed her arms and turned to Anna. “Grand jeté or bust, Sinclair. Let’s see those ballet chops.”

Anna’s finger shot out at Val, her expression bursting with wordless agreement that this was the best idea ever. Removing her shoes, she planted her forefoot onto the cool cement with the opposing foot pointed behind her. Feeling light as a feather, she took two steps before bursting into a mid-air split—and felt the roll of her ankle as she landed, scattering the contents of her purse across the concrete.

With a disbelieving gasp, Val rushed to pull Anna to a seated position. “Oh my God, I was kidding. Are you okay?”

“Man, this takes me back,” Anna croaked through clenched teeth, torn between howling in pain and laughing hysterically as she cradled her ankle. “I did spend a lot more time on my ass in ballet than you did.”

Val’s tightened her lips as her eyebrows stitched together sympathetically—it was common knowledge that, between the two, Val was far and above the more talented dancer, though she never owned up to it. If Anna didn’t excel equally at something, Val wanted nothing to do with stealing the limelight. Anna felt the warmth of nostalgia in her chest at the gesture.

As they collected Anna’s scattered belongings, the crunch of gravel and the whirr of a rolled down window caught their attention. Johnny stuck his head out the backseat of a large black truck, eyes widened suggestively. “Both times I’ve see you two together, it’s like someone spilled sexy Neopolitan ice cream, minus the chocolate.”

Jimmy reclined the driver’s seat to look out Johnny’s window, the head rest colliding with his friend’s head. “Yes, where _is_ the hot fudge, Annie?” An obvious allusion to her dark-haired friend.

Pressing a palm to her chest and feigning heartbreak, Anna stuck out her bottom lip. “You wound me with your fleeting affections. Maria had to get back home. She’s a hard sell, but who am I to stop you, if you’re feeling amorous. And extra ballsy.”

“My balls are always amorous,” Jimmy replied mischievously as he began to pull away, finally obliging with the rest of the guys’ requests to park the car. “Get in there and order a round of shots. Tell Johnny to open up The Rev’s tab indefinitely. It’s gonna be a long night!”

*******

Johnny’s Saloon was divey and far from upscale, nothing like Diamond, but felt more like home than Anna could imagine. The building doubled as a pizzeria and the scrumptious scent of fire roasted cheese made her stomach growl. Neon Budweiser signs cast a reddish glow to the haze of cigarette smoke filling the air and, in contrast with the green Jameson bottle chandelier, it looked like Christmas in late April. Fortunately, the air conditioner was functioning just fine at Johnny’s and it was a welcome reprieve from the thick heat of the concert venue.

The group divvied up, reclaiming their old haunt. Matt and Jimmy launched into a expletive-filled game of pool, fighting over which of them would use the “lucky stick,” while Zack, Brian, and Johnny exchanged jokes and laughs with the heavily bearded owner, the saloon’s namesake. Val assumed the position of Huntington Beach’s sweetheart. She bounced around the bar, chatting up the bartenders and being tugged aside by patrons, yet always made her way back to Matt or Anna, touching the home bases from very different phases of her life. Adaptable seemed to be the name of their game; this group fit in everywhere they went. That’s what happens when you run with world-famous rockstars.

Insecurity gnawed at her insides as Jack’s taunt echoed through her mind: _She’ll leave you in the dust._ Her skin prickled with goosebumps. Whether from the blasting air or because terror was simply the default reaction when it came to Jack, she wasn’t sure. She shook away the thought. It didn’t matter now. For far too long, she calculated every step taken, every word spoken. She woke each morning never knowing which version of Jack she’d face. In the later months, everyday became one of those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books, except her only choices were pain suffered at his hand or hollowness in the pit of her stomach from keeping up the charade. Whatever she had endured up til then, the fact remained that she had broken free before getting seriously hurt. The bruises would heal, but still—they were only bruises. She owed him nothing.

“Annie, settle this debate for us.” Long fingers wound around her forearm as Jimmy pulled her toward a high top table where the guys had gathered. She inhaled the astringent smell of vodka—Grey Goose, by the aroma. “Who is the ‘Brian?’”

By way of response, Anna‘s eyes met his quizzically, before glancing at Brian and back to Jimmy.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated that she couldn’t piece together his completely non-contextual question. “You know, like of our band. All boy bands have stereotypes. there’s the pretty frontman—the ‘Nick Carter.’ That’s obviously Shadows.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Matt said with a grin, raising his glass. His dimples drove home that prettiness. Val giggled at his side, pressing a kiss to one of them.

Jimmy reeled Anna’s neck into the crook of his arm, their heads nearly touching, and he waved two fingers across the table at Zack, as if beholding a skittish doe in the wild. “Then you have the ‘Howie,’ the sensitive backup crooner with soulful eyes that melt panties.” A nod toward Johnny. “And the obligatory weird one. No one’s really sure what he does, but we keep him around anyway.”

“Don’t listen to him, Anna.” Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend. “One of these days, I’m gonna strike back and you guys’ll be sorry.” He dragged a finger across his neck in promise.

Anna disarmed his offending finger and placed his hand onto the table, patting it warmly. “Well, you’re definitely the best bass player I’ve ever seen, Johnny.” To which he shot a smug look at his drummer.

Zack gave her A Look. “Isn’t this your first rock concert?”

“Shut up, guys. This is serious,” Jimmy commanded, slicing his hand through air to signal the end of any other conversation. “So, that leaves Gates and me.”

Reaching across Anna’s body, Jimmy pulled Brian toward them so each of the men flanked her. She sucked in a breath, realizing this was the first time she’d touched Brian’s bare skin other than a handshake. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and it surprised her that his tattoos were smooth. She wasn’t sure why she expected them to be textured, but she’d never felt one before. And they looked so real. His forearm was warm and enticing pressed up against her cool shoulder. She wanted to nudge her way under his arm, to curl into him.

“You make the call,” Jimmy said, snapping her back to reality. “Who is the bad boy who’s probably kinky as fuck with a drug problem? And who is the dreamboat and arguably the veritable prodigy of the entire ensemble?” Anna felt an elbow in her rib cage during “veritable prodigy.” Jimmy was fishing.

Anna was familiar with the Backstreet Boys and, while she mostly agreed with Jimmy’s assessments of the other three—poor Johnny—she didn’t quite know how she’d categorize the remaining two. Especially because Brian—the _real_ Brian—was the personification of dreamboat. Still, it was obvious Jimmy felt passionately about his prodigy status. Who was she to take that away?

Reaching up, she smooshed Jimmy’s chin and lips between her fingers and thumb. “I really can’t think of anything dreamier than this face, Jimmy. Or should I call you ‘Brian?’”

Slamming his hand on the table top in victory, Jimmy exclaimed, “I’m the ‘Brian!’ I’m the talent of this operation; I’m the brains. Better mosey on over to the social security office and officially hand that shit over, Gates. There can only be one!” With that, he placed his large hand on the small of Anna’s back as he dipped her backwards, planting a wet smooch on her cheek and leaving her giggling and flushed. “Thanks, Annie. You’re my favorite friend.”

With Jimmy, Anna found, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when he crossed over the line from sober to shit-faced—regardless of blood alcohol level, everything was over the top. But it was okay because around Jimmy, sadness was impossible. He loved life, loved his friends, would do anything to make them smile. She wanted more than anything to have a reason to smile.

After Jimmy unsteadily meandered toward the jukebox, two beers in hand, Anna took the empty seat he’d occupied and ordered a water to sip on. A strange longing filled her chest as she replayed Jimmy’s words in her head: you’re my favorite friend. Val was right—Anna had not genuinely enjoyed a night out with friends in probably close to a year. She barely had friends. As deprived of companionship as she was, maybe it was weird to call them “friends” so soon, but God, how she wanted to be. In this crowded bar, with Val and this rock star entourage—though they didn’t feel so star-like offstage—she felt a sense of belonging.

“So, I guess that makes me the kinky bad boy?” Brian leaned in as he slid into the stool next to her.

The intoxicating mix of cigarette smoke and cologne addled her brain and her mouth watered—actually watered—like a freaking dog to a bell. The exact moment she’d transformed into a teenage boy or a science experiment, she wasn’t sure. “Scorching” wasn’t typically an adjective she’d use to describe a human being. Perhaps a bonfire on summer night or an actively erupting volcano but good Lord, if she didn’t feel 30 degrees warmer by his proximity.

_You’re cool,_ Anna told herself. _Be a fucking cucumber._ She shrugged, untangling a curl from the gold hoop earrings Maria had lent her. “By default, I guess it does. But don’t forget the drug problem.”

“By default, of course.” He wrapped two fingers around the neck of his beer bottle and took a swig—almost concealing his smugness, but his eyes shone with amusement. “And the drugs? Nothing too serious.”

Matt excused himself for a cigarette, with Zack and Johnny following suit, leaving Anna and Brian alone at the high top. Her stomach flip-flopped as they fell into an awkward, tension-filled silence. Strange how she felt more confident with Brian when surrounded by their friends, using an audience as a safety net. She needed more alcohol.

“We should take a celebratory shot,” he suggested, and she wondered if she’d unintentionally said it out loud. “In honor of the last show on the tour and your first Avenged concert.”

She nodded her agreement, grateful that he had spoken up instead of her fumbling over her words.

“Speaking of the show,” he continued. His fingernail scraped at the label of his beer bottle, which he suddenly found fascinating. “What’d you think? Did we deliver?” Genuine curiosity without a hint of arrogance. Did he actually care what she thought? Was this uncertainty?

There’s no way she could undercut it: they were incredible. Anna tried to rein in her enthusiasm, but found it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue. She began spouting off uncontrollably, gushing over the production as a whole, how comfortable and interactive they were as performers, and the music and lyrics—she felt them. She was raving like a lunatic and she wasn’t entirely sure any words were coherent at that point. As she looked up, she was shocked to find Brian with a peaceful, contented expression. No longer fidgeting with the label, he rested his chin on his palm, listening intently. He hadn’t said anything in well over two minutes. Why wasn’t he saying anything? She shifted in her seat and her knee brushed his. Warmth burned in her core from the contact—accident or not.

Anna cleared her throat, redirecting herself. “I’m just... I’m happy for you. Getting to do what you love for a living. It’s inspiring.” She began picking her cuticles once she realized how cheesy she sounded. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to make you smooth? Feeling her cheeks burn, she tried for levity. “Plus, it must be nice to feast your eyes on so many screaming fan girls—topless ones, considering the amount of lingerie on stage.”

“Nah,” he replied with a chuckle, looking down at his hands. “I was really only looking for you.”

He said this with the same matter-of-fact tone that one would remark about the weather. A puzzled look crossed his face, like he didn’t realize the words were true until they left his mouth—and without a hint of sarcasm or ironic flirtation. Like it was just...fact.

Anna was rendered speechless and tried to offer a polite smile, but her lips probably resembled a sideways question mark more than anything else. Fitting. Meanwhile, her insides crested the peak of a roller coaster, uncertain of what lay beyond the fall.

Too serious. Too intense.

After about 15 seconds of watching the condensation on her water glass cascade down the side while Brian busied himself with the strands of his ripped jeans, the bartender arrived with two shot glasses. Anna had never been more grateful for vodka’s divine intervention.

Brian slid one to Anna and he held up his glass in a toast, his once-again casual expression mirroring her gratitude for alcohol. “To Anna Sinclair’s first rock concert—the first of many, if we did our job properly.”

“Bottoms up.” Anna clinked her shot glass to Brian’s and raised it to her lips, closing her eyes as the liquor burned her throat. She’d lost count of the number of shots she’d taken, but she’d drunk enough that she no longer cared.

She felt warm and happy.  
And confident.

He had looked for her. They hadn’t discussed the location of her seats, so he must have asked about her. What did this mean?

It shouldn’t have mattered what it meant, because she was merely 6 hours out of a damaging relationship, with literal and emotional bruises to boot. It shouldn’t have mattered because he was Val’s friend and co-worker and there’s no way she wanted to complicate things for them. But in that very moment, none of that mattered either, because alcohol and bad decisions tended to go hand-in-hand.

She opened her eyes slowly and cocked her head, considering Brian as if looking at him for the first time that day—which was false, of course. “You didn’t wear a v-neck today.”

Brian’s eyes dropped to his shirt, like he had no idea what he was wearing.

“I guess I didn’t,” he said, confirming what she already knew and disappointed her more than she’d care to admit. His gaze rose to hers, a playful glint in his eye and he arched one eyebrow high, a cartoon villain zeroing in on the helpless damsel. But a seriously delicious villain by whom she’d probably let herself be captured. Definitely. “Are you disappointed you can’t properly objectify me?” He tugged down the collar of his shirt an inch or two as his mouth twisted into a playful smile. “That better?”

“No.” Driven by booze and the surge of confidence, Anna hooked her fingertip around the collar, nudging his hand aside and dragging the neckline of his shirt further downward until it rested mid-sternum. Her blue eyes peered up at him. His lids lowered as she held her finger there for three heartbeats, baring the hard muscle of his chest. Her finger stutter-stepped as his breathing hitched, but Brian never broke eye contact, nor did he remove her hand. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s better.”

The heady tension between them thrummed, her heart slamming against her rib cage as she took in the weight of the moment. His hooded eyes made their way down, drinking in her every curve, every hollow. Yes, she’d been in a relationship for the past two years, but she knew that look. It stripped her and laid her bare, which is probably what she’d be if they were anywhere but here. She felt the warmth of his fingers, calloused but tender, as they grazed the length of her forearm from elbow to wrist, his hand flattening her palm against his chest. Holding it there.

The whole bar and everyone in it could’ve gone up in flames and she wouldn’t notice because of her hand on his skin and his hand upon hers.

“ _Boo!”_ Two arms creeped around Anna’s waist from behind and squeezed tightly. Any previous sexual tension or confusion shattered as rational thought shut down. Dizzied with rising panic, her vision vignetted with crimson. She gasped and clawed at the arms around her torso, effectively throwing them off. She spun away in defense—only to find Val, a mixture of shock and concern on her face as she held up her arms in surrender.

“Anna?” Val asked, taking an uncertain step toward her, palms up.

Immediately sobered, Anna raked her clammy fingers into her hair, willing her heart to slow and wracked her brain over how to explain her reaction in the least embarrassing way. She came up empty. “Wow, that was a serious overreaction. I’m so sorry, Val.”

Val’s eyes shot to Brian, lips tight. Snatching up his glass, Brian glanced toward a table in the far corner where Matt, Johnny, Jimmy, and Zack were manhandling 3 very large, very greasy pizzas.

“Oookay, then,” Brian said, his voice strained and a little awkward. “I’ll leave you girls to it.” Backing away from her and Val, he raised his beer bottle in salute before striding toward his friends. It was a shame, Anna thought, that he lacked a tail to tuck between his legs. Val’s eyes followed Brian until he had taken a seat on Zack’s lap, practically knocking him off his stool.

Val turned back to her, gently placing her hands on Anna’s shoulders, grounding her. “You’re shaking. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s a good thing you still gnaw these things to death,” Val joked, picking up Anna’s hands and inspecting her pitiful fingernails. “You would’ve torn my arms to shreds. That said, I cannot allow your fingers to look like this in my presence. Mani/pedis. Tomorrow. You and me. A girl always needs a sharp set of claws to sink into someone new after a fresh breakup.

“Speaking of which,” Val continued, drawing out the vowels as if the thought had just occurred to her, instead of being the entire reason she'd come over in the first place. Anna knew what Val was going to say before she said it. “Did I interrupt something? Was Brian hitting on you? I knew this was going to happen. The guy can’t help himself.”

Anna forced a laugh, though it came out sounding more like a groan. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just enjoying the newfound freedom. Plus, you know how flirty I get when I’m drunk. Remember spring break senior year?”

“Oh my God, that’s right!” How easily Val was ushered down memory lane. As Val excitedly recounted the girls’ last hurrah as high school students and the ridiculous adventures they had—in which Anna had sworn she would elope with their beautiful 32-year-old Mexican bartender and, in her blacked out state, had literally proposed to him.

Somehow, that paled in comparison to the humiliation she felt now. She feared she’d drown in it.

Val meant no harm by calling Brian what he was, of course. He’s a celebrity, and he definitely wouldn’t be the first to use it to his sexual advantage. He hadn’t even needed to—she dangled right in front of him.

Anna’s heart rate had just regained its normal rhythm, but erratically shot back up when she realized how desperate she must have looked. Did she cross a line with him? What did Val think? Jesus, she practically threw herself at Brian, didn’t she? After being out of a relationship for not even half a day, apparently seducing a rockstar was the classy thing to do. As far as Brian knew, she was still dating Jack. Moral code and relationship status probably didn’t cross his mind when she was feeling him up—she may as well have “groupie” tattooed on her forehead. Worse, a groupie who hadn't even listened to Avenged Sevenfold before that night. She couldn’t even sing along as she watched them.

As Val waxed nostalgic, Anna nodded and smiled when appropriate, only half listening.

_She doesn’t give a shit about you. None of them do._

Anna's stomach lurched. However many shots she'd had, it was one too many. Even as the frigid current of air blasted from the vents above, the nausea and heat pricked her skin. Saliva pooled on her tongue and she couldn't swallow enough to keep it at bay. Her throat constricted and burned. She was going to vomit.

Excusing herself and leaving a bewildered Val mid-sentence, her feet rushed her unsteadily to the bathroom.

Empty.  
Thank God.

Anna pushing through the stall door, dry heaves punching her gut just as her knees slammed against the cold tile floor. Pressure built behind her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it was from retching or the tears threatening to spill. Whatever it was, she feared her eyes would explode from their sockets. With every echo of Jack's torment screamed through her brain, she retched again. Nothing ever came up, which was somehow more disappointing than if she had thrown up.

_I am not what he made me. I am not what he made me. I am not what he made me._

After several moments, the nausea finally subsided. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Anna pushed off the toilet and rested her back against the stall. Turning her head to the side, she rested her face against the wall, welcoming the feel of cold steel on her damp cheek.

Coming out tonight was a terrible idea. In no position to drive, Anna would need to call a cab to get back to Maria's for the night. Her hand reached to her back pocket to grab her phone, but came up with only smooth leather in hand.

"Fuck," she breathed, banging her head against the stall as punishment for multiple poor decisions that day. She'd kept her phone in her purse because Maria's leather pants were too tight. And her purse was out at the high top with Val. With a deep sigh, she told herself it was going to be okay. All she needed to do was grab her purse, explain she wasn't feeling well, and make her getaway. She'd face Val again once she got her head on straight.

Exiting the bathroom, she was met with Val and Jimmy's worried faces blocking her path.

"I'm fine," she assured before they could say anything.

"You sure?" asked Jimmy. His normally smiling eyes were wide, a deep crevice between his brows. He was actually concerned for her. That same happy ache from earlier gripped her heart. "I saw you shoot across the room like a bat out of hell and I either figured you were gonna puke or Val pissed you off. I wouldn't be surprised. Cold-hearted bitch, our Valary is." He slung his arm around Val.

"You scared me, Anna," Val said, reaching forward to intertwine her fingers with Anna's. "You're _scaring_ me. Is everything okay? Is it the breakup? Talk to me, please. Or don’t. Just tell me you’re okay.”

"Breakup?" echoed Jimmy, eyes darting to Anna, perfect circles of shock as his fingers drummed a rapid beat on Val's shoulders. "Uh, you broke up with Jack? Is he cool with that?"

"Jimmy, shut up," Val snapped, smacking his arm.

Anna squinted at Jimmy's odd question. She shook her head, deciding to dismiss his question. She didn't need to occupy herself with anymore thoughts of Jack tonight.

"Honestly, you guys. I'm fine. I got a little overzealous with the shots, I think. It's just been a crazy week and I need to decompress a bit. I'm gonna call a cab and head back to Maria's for the night." Pulling Val close for a hug, breathing in her fresh, floral perfume. "Thank you for always forgiving my craziness. We're still on for manis/pedis tomorrow though, right?"

"Of course," Val replied softly, running a hand over Anna’s hair.

"Of course," replied Jimmy, even softer.

Anna belly laughed at him as she snuggled into his chest for a hug. She couldn't give up these friends. Even if she was in emotional limbo. Even if she had made herself an idiot with Brian. A few days by herself and she'd be as good as new. Or as good as refurbished. "Thank you for coming to check on me. I'll just grab my purse and head out." Val held up Anna's bag, always having exactly what she needed.

Glancing over to the table where the rest of the guys sat, Anna raised her hand into a little wave. They all returned her goodbye except Brian. Wordlessly, he flicked his palm and two fingers upward, like saying _what the hell_ , his face scrunching with some emotion she couldn’t peg. Maybe irritation, maybe disappointment. Right now, she didn’t have the headspace to psychoanalyze.

Pushing past the desire to stay, to dive face first into greasy pizza, conversation, and alcohol—maybe not the alcohol—she let herself out the exit. Cool air pricked the fine hairs on her arms and she shivered as soft raindrops darkened the pavement. The moon was barely visible behind the increasing clouds.

Thankful for the small awning covering the walkway, Anna leaned against the building and began rifling through her handbag.

Chapstick. Mascara. Driver’s License.  
Her purse was painfully devoid of cell phone.

_Shit._ As if the night couldn't get worse, her phone must have gotten lost when she dropped her purse. Anna walked toward the streetlight, hoping it was lying somewhere in plain sight. Up the block a bit more, there was an alley just out of the diameter of the streetlight. As if it knew she was looking for it, the screen lit up and the familiar melody of her ringtone sang. Equally relieved and concerned about water damage, she strode toward her trilling phone, bending down to pick it up.

The tiny square of her flip phone depicted tanned skin and a handsome, thousand watt smile that still gave her pause—except now she paused and recoiled.

Suddenly, her phone skittered across the sidewalk into the street and she was yanked upward by her hair. Follicle by follicle, she felt the strands ripped from her scalp. A large, clammy hand sealed her nose and mouth tight, while the other arm dragged her body deeper into the dark alley. Her legs thrashed, kicking as hard as she could muster, but only connecting with air. She felt the heel of her stiletto snap as she smashed it into the pavement. Black dotted her vision. Jesus Christ, she needed oxygen.

Someone would hear her if only she could scream.  
She needed to scream, but she needed to _breathe_ to scream.

Muscles straining, her puny fingernails clawed at the hand as white hot fire filled her lungs. Her fingers slid underneath her assailant's hand just enough to pry them away from her nose. Her intake of fresh air through her nostrils was a welcome relief, but still not enough. Crushed against her attacker's chest as he struggled to gain control again, his scent hit her.

The lingering scent of week-old laundry detergent.  
The familiar sting of hand sanitizer from a long day at the hospital.

The need to escape overwhelmed her, squelching her fear of him and what he was capable of, and driving her to wriggle free just enough to clamp her teeth onto on his finger. The taste of copper hit her a split second before her body was hurtled into the side of the building. The brick carved fresh abrasions into her elbows as she sunk onto the ground, her hand drenched in puddles of rainwater. She scrambled backwards frantically, the fractured heel of her left shoe slipping against the slick asphalt.

“Fuck, Anna!” Jack spat before bringing his finger to his mouth. He considered her for several moments, observing as her eyes flicked erratically to the mouth of the alley. He strode five paces toward the sidewalk, positioning himself between Anna and the exit. When he turned back to her, his black eyes seemed to glow victoriously in the faint lamplight. His shoulders relaxed and he dropped his gaze to his bleeding finger. Jack’s lips twisted in dark amusement. “You just had to add injury to insult, didn’t you?”

Every muscle in Anna’s body tightened as he took a step in her direction, extending a hand to her. When she didn’t take it, he loosed a harsh chuckle. “What? I’m not going to bite. I‘ll leave that to you, apparently.”

The entire interaction seemed foreign and contradictory. Did he not just drag her into this alley? Were violence and lighthearted banter now interchangeable? Anna tried to shake away the nonsense and fear clouding her logic, but they persisted. “How did you even... what are you doing, Jack?”

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” He shrugged, withdrawing his hand. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. They settled on intertwining behind his head, taking a moment to relax after a long evening of stalking and assaulting.

Anna wished she were shocked by his reply, as a breakup seemed like a pretty solid disinvitation, but past experiences taught her better. Jack Marino didn’t understand rejection; he’d never had to up until that day.

As the only child of a cardiothoracic surgeon and a psychiatrist, Jack’s parents were the driving force behind his affluent existence. Anna had met them once before—The Drs. Marino lived in Seattle, but owned a condo in Los Angeles—and she knew how they fawned over their son. He wanted an E-Class Mercedes for his 21st birthday? Chump change. Wanted them to pay rent on a 3 bedroom apartment in downtown Long Beach? Without further question. Wanted admission into one of the most prestigious medical schools in California? Done. Just as long as he stayed the course of the Marino family legacy of medical doctors, the world would belong to him.

And, until earlier that day, she did, too. She’d allowed him full-throttle into her life, her heart, her bed, and anything else he demanded.

Now, he balanced a fraying tightrope between composed and unhinged, teetering 100ft in the air without a net. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond.

“I had to make sure you were serious,” Jack continued. He shifted his weight to the other foot and ran the back of his hand across his nose, sniffling. Peering down at her with sad eyes that only thinly veiled something more sinister, he spoke to her almost mockingly. “After two years together, breaking my heart over the phone seemed pretty callous. Maybe you’d had a bad day. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. Can you blame me for wanting closure?”

“No, I guess I can’t.” _Tread lightly,_ Anna urged herself. _Placate him._ His demeanor was eerily calm, save for the restlessness of his posture. She didn’t know what to expect. It had been at least 30 minutes since the last smoke break the guys had taken. All she had to do until then was bide her time and keep him talking. And not poking the beast. “Sorry you had to drive all the way out here.” This time, when he offered his hand to help her up, she took it. Her stance was uneven from the broken shoe, so she had to keep her left foot flat. It was fitting, given how small she felt in that moment.

“Don’t mention it.” Jack shook his head, dismissing her apology. He sized her up from toe to head. The doctor was always assessing, always diagnosing. But his eyes seemed to pause on the tight-fit of the now-ruined leather pants on her hips, the way the curve of her breast protruded from beneath her halter. He let out a half-breath/half-whistle as his top lip twitched into a sneer. He shoved a hand into his pocket and Anna felt her pulse quicken.

“I guess it’s worth it,” he continued, his voice cracking. “To see what I’ll be missing. What a vision for the world-famous Avenged Sevenfold, am I right?” 

A step closer. 

His hand withdrew from his pocket and curled into a shaky fist to match its counterpart. “I’m sure Synyster Gates would love to toy with you just like he toys with that Schecter of his. Maybe The Rev could pound you instead of that drum set. Or a threesome with Shadows and his pinup-looking bitch. Except you’ve never been so good at the seduction, Anna. That’s why Gates ran away from you when you threw yourself at him in there. I saw it all. It was like a comedy routine, really, watching you fail so miserably. But it sure didn’t take you long to try and fuck someone else.”

Anna’s arms snaked across her torso, shielding herself from the rain and his intrusive glare. She cursed herself for thinking it would be that easy, for assuming he would just let it lie. The marks on her neck were evidence enough that this man’s limits were nonexistent. The cadence of the rainfall picked up as a car careened down the street. Jesus, what she wouldn’t do to run after it. She wished the brick wall that was grating the skin of her back would crumble, crushing her and crushing him and crushing any potential for him to lay a hand on her. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no?” He whispered menacingly, now close enough to feel his breath on her face. Close enough to slap or punch or kick except he towered over her, her meek stature to his six-foot-three. His hand reached forward to brush aside the drenched hair that stuck to her cheek, running his thumb over her bottom lip as gently as he used to. But as he tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes were a black hole. Spittle collected at the corner of his mouth as he hissed, “Then what’s it like, hmm? What’s it like to know that you’ve fucked me up beyond repair? That you’ve humiliated me? What’s it like to know that you’ve driven me to fucking insanity? Driven me to _this_?”

He uncurled his fingers where a small white bag lay in his palm. He dipped a wet finger in to the bag, coating it with powder and dragging it back-and-forth across his gums. He smirked conspiratorially, like she was in on it. “Not as good as a bump, but it’ll do.”

Anna’s jaw slackened and the world tipped in that moment. Everything made sense now. The deteriorating apartment. The roller coaster mood swings. The off-the-walls insomnia. The abuse. He was going to ruin his career, ruin his life over this addiction. Her heart cracked a little in her chest, but the fact remained that she was in a dark alley with an coked-out abusive ex-boyfriend who had a hell of a vendetta. Fuck, why weren’t the guys smoking yet.

_DEFUSE. DE-ESCALATE._

Gripping his arms, she pleaded with him. “Jack, listen. You don’t have to give into this. We can get you help.”

Jack’s eyes softened for a split second before his massive hand was on the back of her neck, knotted into her hair. He spun her around and shoved her face into the brick. He had her arm twisted behind her. Her muscles and bones and tendons burned at the unnatural flexion. His breath was sour as he pressed his body against hers from behind, smothering her. “You’re the one who needs help now, Anna. Thing is, no one gives a shit enough to look for you.”


	12. Chapter Eleven

Brian’s intoxication from both alcohol and Anna evaporated the moment he heard that familiar voice.

“Boo!” _Fucking Val._ How did he not see her coming?

Considerably annoyed and empty, somehow, the moment Anna’s hand left his skin, Brian felt like someone had ripped a joint from his lips before he could take a hit. No. He wasn’t done yet. He needed to fill his lungs with her, hold her in until his vision blurred and his chest threatened to explode from the burn.

The way his skin still burned where she’d touched him.

And the look on Anna’s face the moment she tore away from Val’s embrace was enough to rouse something violent in Brian. It was pitiful. And her technique... God, it was all wrong. It pained the jiu jitsu fighter in him to witness. She had zero focus, flailing and clawing her way out of Val’s grasp. Her defense was instinctual and sloppy and entirely fear-driven. She should’ve planted her feet and bent at the knees, then swung her left leg around the back of Val’s knee. This would’ve effectively knocked her off balance so Anna would gain the edge.

But why would she feel the need to evade _Val?_ The darkness from earlier in the week tugged at his mind, but he couldn’t concentrate with Val’s serrated stare slicing his head off.

Brian knew that look on her face, too: pupils dilated like a cat stalking a mouse, lips turned down at the corners and barely containing her canines. Or...felines. Whatever they were, they were sharp and scary and he’d hear about this later. Self-preservation told him not to turn his back on Val, but he also wanted to get the fuck out of dodge before anyone noticed the strain on his zipper.

So he raised his glass and walked away.

He’d rubbed one out in the bathroom after the show— _auburn curls, leather pants, that fucking side boob_ — but even that wasn’t enough. He tried to shut down the idea of her but, being the idiot that he was, he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Jesus Christ, he wanted that girl.

And it wasn’t just the sex drought that had him hot and bothered. Watching her guard slip away as her eyes grew wild, rhapsodizing over the band and the music they created—the music _he_ created—made his chest ache. It gave new significance to why he did what he did. He loved writing and playing music and lived for the fact that he had his best friends along side him, of course. But Anna’s completely unbiased, completely unfiltered raving inspired him like...well, like not much else had in recent memory.

He was so inspired, in fact, that he may as well have broadcast it across the whole fucking bar. He could throw the egotistical bad boy image to the wind after admitting that, out of 14,000 people, he only gave a damn about her reaction that night. That, combined with her fire hot touch she etched into his chest, had shot straight to his pants and sent him reeling. And it took every goddamn ounce of restraint to keep his touch G-rated instead of sliding his hand down her side, his fingers memorizing the cinch of her waist like he so badly wanted.

Like he didn’t have his pick of women to sleep with.  
Like he didn’t sell out stadiums of thousands.  
Like their last album didn’t go platinum.  
But that was the kicker: Anna didn’t care about any of that.  
Furthermore, why did he care so much?

None of that mattered anyway. The chick had a boyfriend. She had a funny way of having a boyfriend. Not to mention he was a diabolical asshole. But still, not his business.

As he approached the table, he found Johnny and Jimmy engaged in a lively game of ashtray hockey between the platters of half-eaten pizza. Catching his friend off guard, Brian shoved his way onto Zack’s lap with too much gusto.

“Asshole!” Zack shouted as he lost his balance, arms reflexively grabbing for something to catch himself. He clutched Brian’s shirt and the crotch of his jeans before toppling over and straightened up in the seat, scooting for Brian to share the chair.

Realization, then repulsion, flashed across Zack’s face as his mouth sunk into an upside-down U. “Are you... are you _hard_ right now, dude?” Zack wiped his hands on his jeans, whatever that did.

“Boooooner,” Johnny sang in a high-pitched voice, returning the ashtray puck to Jimmy.

Fuck. “The girls call us ‘Synacky’ for a reason. You get anywhere near me and I just can’t help myself.” Brian took another bite of pizza wolfishly and winked at Zack, hoping his friends wouldn’t call him on it.

“Bullshit,” laughed Matt. “We all saw you over there, man. I was rooting for you. I tried to hold Val back, but...” Matt threw his hands up in surrender. There was no need to finish the statement.

“The kinky bad boy, am I right?” Jimmy said with a sly grin, playfully flinging the ashtray across the table. Brian caught it, but the force littered ashes onto the table. “Seems like you’re all set to live up to your stereotype, you scoundrel.”

Zack scoffed, using his hand to sweep up the mess. “Come on, Gates. You know better. That’s a shitstorm waiting to happen. She’s a pretty girl, I get it. But you saw what she comes with.” He snatched the ashtray away from Brian and dumped the remnants back in. “I hate smoking in bars. You guys wanna head outside and...” Zack trailed off as Jimmy’s eyes widened, fixating on something above their heads.

Brian and Zack followed his gaze to find Anna sprinting into the bathroom, her face pallid with a greenish tint. Had she drunk that much? He tried not to feel the sting from the idea that her flirtation was purely driven by alcohol, but he was a vain S.O.B.

It did sting.

“Incoming,” mock-whispered Jimmy as he slipped out of his chair, heading for the men’s room. “Nice knowing you, Gates.”

Brian turned once more and matched gazes with a pissed off-looking Valary closing in on him. He scrambled to his feet, not sure if his intent was to escape or go toe-to-toe with her, but Val’s fire hydrant red fingernail stopped him before he could make a decision.

“Stay,” she commanded.

“Jesus. I’m not a dog.”

She narrowed her eyes as her finger tipped south. “Sit.”

He sunk to his chair once more, only half-heartedly upset. As humiliated as he was to be chastised in front of everyone, he loved that she loved Anna so much. She deserved that love.

Val’s jaw was clenched as she looked down at him, her fingers steepled and pressed against the bridge of her nose as she took deep, steady breaths.

Like she was praying.  
No, like she was The Godfather.

This was her stance when she was dealing with morons who double booked a venue, trying desperately not to kill them. _So much for the love._

”What the hell did you do to my friend.” More an accusation than a question.

“Val, I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t hit on her?”

Three seconds passed. Brian rapped his knuckle on the tabletop to count each one, stalling. And in that moment, he cursed his friends for not going to bat for him. His eyes shot murderously to each one of them—of course there was a shit-eating on Johnny’s face—before his gaze dropped back to his fist, white-knuckled. He couldn’t lie to Val. “I didn’t like... directly hit on her.”

”You’re unbelievable.” Val’s eyebrows drew together, forming a V. “She’s my oldest friend, Brian. She’s like a sister to me. And she’s fresh out of a breakup. How do you think that feels? She’s drunk and probably hurting and you thought it was a good idea to try and take advantage of that? Of course she’s freaked out!”

“Easy, girl,” Matt said quietly, slipping a finger through her belt loop and coaxing her toward him. Her expression softened a little, realizing they had spectators.

“‘Take advantage of that?’” Brian echoed indignantly. He huffed a breath and shook his head at her accusation. He loved his friend, but enough was enough. From his vantage point, Anna seemed to be doing damn pretty well until Val’s hydrogen bomb ass came up and dropped a 120lb load of buzzkill on them. It’s not like he was undressing her in the middle of the fucking bar. There wasn’t even a cock to block yet. “I didn’t even know they broke up! You’re the one who freaked her out. We were just talking and—“ A crucial part of her statement sunk in. Brian shook his head, drawing back in confusion. “Hang on, they broke up?”

Maybe that charged moment wasn’t only fueled by alcohol—maybe she actually wanted him, too. Brian tried to suppress the flicker of delight at the thought.

Val’s attention snapped toward Jimmy, who was wildly waving his arm with one ear pressed to the door to the ladies room. He nodded toward her door, imitating the act of puking by puffing out his cheeks and holding his stomach. Val walked quickly toward Jimmy to join him in waiting, but not before shooting one last warning look over her shoulder.

As Brian sat back down, his three friends suddenly found their surroundings fascinating, as if they hadn’t been in this bar a million times before.

“Fucking Judases,” he muttered, reaching into his shirt pocket for new pack of Marlboros and began packing them forcefully against the heel of his palm. Though he couldn’t deny that he’d have kept his mouth shut, too. Val was Medusa when she was pissed—you risked turning to stone if you looked her directly in the eye. Turning to Matt, Brian reached out his fist. “Except you. ’A’ for effort, dude.”

Matt bumped it in reply.

Brian knew they’d all be fine; they always were. Val was protective of her people and, even though he was on her shit list right now, he was grateful to be part of her tribe. Whatever had happened between Anna and Jack, if she clung to Val—and Val wouldn’t give her much of a choice—she’d be part of it, too.

Anna emerged from the bathroom, the pink tint to her face failing to hide her withered expression, as Val and Jimmy closed in on her. She didn’t once look over at Brian. It deflated him a little and he loathed that.

An elbow nudged his ribcage and he turned to find Zack’s face stricken with concern. “Dude, don’t do it,” urged Zack, messing with one of his lip rings. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t. And don’t make me list the reasons it would be a terrible idea, because you don’t have that much time. Besides, it’s got Val all—“ Zack curved his fingers into talons for emphasis. “—prickly. Do you really want to deal with that shit all summer?”

Brian often suspected that Zack was a 100-year-old trapped in a 26-year-old body; somebody’s world-weary, wise old grandpa reincarnated into a rhythm guitarist— pierced and tattooed only to feign the image of rebellion. No matter how Zack longed to be home by 7 in time to watch Jeopardy, he still tagged along with their shenanigans and put up with their shit.

Brian attempted a dismissive shrug, but knew Zack saw right through it.

“See you later, Anna,” called Matt, stealing Brian’s attention. Johnny and Zack’s hands went up in casual waves. Anna’s eyes met his, her lips offering a half-hearted smile.

_She was seriously leaving? What the fuck?_ He threw up a palm, more in question than farewell, and scooted his chair back to follow her.

Zack’s foot swung around the leg of Brian’s chair, pulling it back in before he could stand, and mouthed, “Leave it.”

There were way, way too many fucking people giving orders tonight. Still, as he watched her deep crimson curls disappear, Brian left it.

Jimmy and Val rejoined the table and conversation picked up where it left off, though the public scolding had put a damper on things. The conversation oscillated between relief to be back in California, plans for the upcoming week, and Jimmy asking around for a Backstreet Boys CD to listen to on the ride home. Brian felt the sudden weight of exhaustion on his eyelids. The faces of his five friends mirrored his need for a long night’s sleep, minus potholes, honking horns, and traffic jams. God, he couldn’t wait to get home.

Matt and Val were the first to stand. The lithe blonde stretched her arms over her head with a yawn as Matt nuzzled her neck from behind, wrapping his arms around the sliver of her bare midsection. Brian’s heart pinched a bit at the tenderness.

“Let’s go home, guys,” she said grabbing her purse. “Anna and I have a noon appointment at the salon tomorrow, then we’ll probably do some retail therapy.“

“Is she okay?” asked Brian. He couldn’t help it.

Val turned to him, analytical and observing for a moment. He braced himself, but she seemed to sense his concern was genuine. “She will be,” she replied with a sad smile. “I’d be sad after a breakup, too.”

”She’s better off,” muttered Jimmy, out of Val’s earshot. The drummer ran his palm across his beard restlessly. Almost nervously. “For as primadonna as he looks, Jack’s scary. I wouldn’t want to be around when he snaps. I’m changing my number tomorrow. The guy is fuckin’ unhinged. I’m surprised he hasn’t come up here to raise hell. No coke and no girl? God knows his ego must be bruised right now.”

_Scary. Unhinged. Bruised._ Jimmy’s words rattled Brian’s skull.

Matt gestured to the guys, jerking his head toward the bar and asking for everyone to split the tab. Brian tossed a few $100 bills at Matt.

“You guys go and pull up the ‘Burb to the curb.” Jimmy slurred, tossing Val his keys, making a chink sound as she caught them. “I’m gonna go procure some _herb_ , so do not _disturb.”_ Jimmy cackled and held up his hand to Val, who high-fived him and laughed despite herself.

The four guys walked off toward the bar, but Brian remained seated. His brain buzzed louder and louder as he turned Jimmy’s words over in his head.

“Walk out with me.” Making peace in her own little way, Val hip checked him and started toward the door. She frowned when he didn’t move. “You okay, Bri?”

Bruised.  
 _Bruises._

Brian shot to his feet, his chair tumbling backward. “Get Anna on the phone.”

He couldn’t feel his feet as they carried him through the door. Pushing through the exit and out into the street, his senses sharpened. But all he heard was the steady drumming of rain against pavement—a rarity in Orange County. The sidewalks on either side of the street were barren. Several blocks away, he heard the rattling bass of a car. The cooler air of the early morning hour did nothing to calm the frantic pumping in his chest. He needed to find her. He would chill out once he knew she was safely in a cab or at Maria’s.

“Brian?” Val’s voice was unsteady and lacked the derision from earlier. He wasn’t surprised she’d followed him.

“Now, Val.”

Val punched the buttons and held the phone to her ear, her other hand fiddling nervously with a lock of her hair.

A garbled melody answered her call from about halfway up the block. An ominous chill seized his spine, worsened by his soaking wet clothes. The pizza he’d eaten threatened to make its way up his esophagus. Val gasped something unintelligible, but he didn’t register her words.

He followed the ringing. There in the street, surrounded by a rising puddle, laid a small silver rectangle. As he crouched down, afraid to touch it and make it real, the display screen was already damaged from water—but he could still make out Val’s smiling face on the caller ID.

“Oh my God,” Val gasped, a strangled sort of cry. He felt her fingers dig into his shoulder.

From behind them, a muffled cry came from deep within the alley.

Not a cry for help.  
A cry of pain.

On instinct, Val began barreling into the alley, but Brian gripped her arm and spun her to face him.

“Go inside, Val,” he uttered, hushed but resolute.

He didn’t stick around to see if she listened.

The halo of the streetlight didn’t reach the source of the cry, but he knew. He knew what was there. The blood drained from his face, rushing to his feet and his hands, rousing them to action. As he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, he realized they were the only weapons he had on him.

He didn’t need anything else, anyway.

The skies opened up above him, unleashing torrents of rain that masked the sound of his footfalls as he closed in on his target. He sent up a silent ‘thank you’.

Closer.  
Closer.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his shoulders tightened when he saw a large figure, their hands constricting the neck of a smaller frame—a girl. A girl with rain-dampened crimson locks, so dark that it was hard to tell where it ended and the blood began.

The moments before a strike are a powerful thing, because the choice is still your own. Time slows and there’s a charged stillness about it, like the universe pressed pause to give you an out; an opportunity to turn the other cheek. Pride can still be swallowed, words bitten back, and fists withdrawn.

As for pride, he had too damn much.  
As for words, he didn’t need them.  
Tonight, fists were enough.

Brian charged from behind. He hooked one arm around Jack’s neck in a rear-chokehold, his other arm flanking from other side, locking his arms and securing pressure on the windpipe. Brian yanked him away from Anna, garnering a sadistic pleasure from Jack’s wheezing as he struggled to breathe. His hands shot up, clawing at Brian’s arm as he was pulled back, back. Jack was taller and heavier than Brian, but he was sloppy.

“Oh my God! Anna?” shrieked a female voice. Val never listened; in this case, he was glad she didn’t.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he was relieved to find Val propping up her barely conscious friend as she gulped in oxygen. She was bloodied to holy hell—but she was breathing.

Brian twisted his body to the side, hauling Jack with him and slamming him to the ground with more force than was necessary. His body hit the wet asphalt with a thud, writhing as he continued to gasp and wheeze. Brian knew exactly how to slam him down to knock the wind out of him, a spasm seizing Jack’s diaphragm. He’d be down for a minute or so.

“Fucking coward,” Brian spat, cracking his neck as he turned away. “You hear me?”

Brian knelt in front of Anna to assess the damage, brushing the matted hair from her eyes. The alley was dark, but his eyes had adjusted enough to see the blood that oozed from a nasty cut on her eyebrow, streaks of red mixed with rainwater cascading down her face. He gently ran his hand down her cheek, lifting her chin. She winced as his finger ghosted over her split lip.

“Goddamnit,” Brian whispered. Half-curse, half-apology.

Anna’s lips parted, each breath becoming steadier. After a few moments, she peered up at him and croaked, “It’s not as bad... as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad, sweetheart.” Brian smiled sadly at her bravado, but her trembling hand clutching his told a different story. Peeling his wet shirt off his body, he wiped off the extra blood and pressed the fabric to her lacerated eyebrow. To Val, he said, “Put pressure on the bleeding. Give me your phone and I’ll call the guys. She’s probably gonna need stitches for that head wound. Maybe the lip. We’ve gotta get her to the hospital.”

Sharp, mocking laughter sounded from behind him. Jack knelt, bracing his hands on his thighs with a menacing smile slashed across his face. “‘She’ll need stitches for that head wound,’ he says. I knew you were a bad ass guitarist, Synyster Gates. Tonight, you’re a white knight and a trauma physician, too?”

Brian rose to his feet, shielding the girls. “Better than you. What happened to ‘do no harm?’ Isn’t that the oath you take?” He gestured to Anna, case in point.

Jack scoffed with a flippant wave of his hand. “The Hippocratic Oath? Pretty archaic practice these days.” He stood up and wrung out his shirt. He had to be high. There’s no way he was this stupid on his own. Confirming Brian’s suspicion, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag, frowning at it. “Well, my stash is fucked. Hey, is Jimmy still inside?” He smiled wider, knowing he struck a nerve.

“Asshole,” Val snapped, holding tighter to Anna.

The rainstorm had dissipated to a light drizzle and slivers of moonlight peeked from behind the clouds. The tinny trickling of water running through the gutters was the only sound as Brian glared at the maniac in front of him, wrestling over how to deal with him. He could barely keep the growl from his voice as he said, “Get the fuck out of here, man. Don’t contact her. Don’t come near her. Don’t even think about her. Forget she ever existed.”

“I wish.” Jack’s eyes shone darkly as he snarled, stepping forward and thrusting a finger toward Anna. “That bitch ruined me. You fucking ruined me, Anna!”

Brian met his advance, stopping him with a palm and forcing him backwards, hard enough to make a point. Jack’s eyes bore into his, pure hatred, as a rush of adrenaline coursed through Brian. “Go,” he warned, the single word dripping with malice.

“Fine. Have fun with my sloppy seconds.” Jack held up both hands in defeat, slowly pivoting on his heel and taking several paces toward the street.

Brian exhaled, letting his shoulders relax as he turned to the girls. Val had the phone to her ear and was explaining their current circumstances to Matt.

In his periphery, he saw Jack spin around, windmilling his arm like a baseball pitcher. Instinctively, Brian walled himself in front of the girls as pain shattered his flank. As he hunched over, gripping his side, a small piece of broken asphalt skittered to the ground. Jack began to run.

Something primal, something lethal ignited in Brian. In training Jiu Jitsu, he learned and practiced several things: 1. Relinquish the ego. 2. Don’t act on impulse—react to your opponent. 3. Conserve your energy.

But everything he’d ever trained for, everything he’d learned lay battered on the ground, bleeding next to a beautiful girl.

He exploded down the alley, only running about 20 paces before he ambushed Jack from behind. Jack’s head hit the ground with a sickening crack as the two tumbled over and over. Brian rolled on top of Jack, straddling his torso and pinning him.

Blood sprayed across the pavement as Brian pounded his fist onto Jack’s nose, the cartilage collapsing beneath his knuckles. Jack screamed in agony, flailing his arms but failing to block his face. The guy didn’t have a prayer of getting a jab in.

Brian knew he’d already won, but he did not relent. This was ecstasy.

His blood turned black, bolting through his veins like lightning. And he never struck the same spot twice, pummeling his knuckles onto every untouched pore on Jack’s face.

A cacophony of shouts and cries filled the air around him, but Brian couldn’t be bothered. Every fiber of his being—every bullshit high school brawl, every begged martial arts lesson as a boy—was a tiny cog in the killing machine that he had become that night.

_Right. Left. Right._

This fist.  
That face.  
His throbbing purple knuckles and the dark red staining Jack’s stupid fucking teeth. He didn’t know whose blood was whose, but he didn’t care. He would bleed to punish this motherfucker.

Brian’s fingers found a fist-sized chunk of asphalt and palmed it, smiling at the irony. It was bigger than the piece that Jack had used. The jagged edges pricked his skin as he curled it into his fist.

_Finish it,_ the devil in him whispered. Brian was too far gone to feel any mercy as Jack lay beneath him, sobbing and listless. A bloodied tooth lay inches from Jack’s face. God, how he wanted to knock out the rest.

“I could kill you,” Brian panted through gritted teeth. He meant it.

“Brian. Don’t.” A soft, strained voice snatched him from his tunnel vision, quelling his rage. He cast a glance back and met Anna’s eyes, wide and glistening. Her lip had swollen to double its normal size, causing a slight impediment in her words.

Jimmy and Val flanked her, holding her up with stony expressions on their faces. Zack, Matt, and Johnny, all still as statues, watched him from the alley’s opening.

Matt took a few cautious steps toward him, holding out his hand. Whether to help him up or to disarm him, Brian wasn’t sure. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened or who he’d become, but was afraid to touch anyone.

Looking back at Anna once more, a strange mingling of emotions pierced him—pride and guilt and sadness. She blinked and two tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

They all looked terrified.  
 _Of me._

Collecting himself with a steadying breath, he let the asphalt roll out of his hand. His knuckles were bloody and throbbing and suddenly, he could hardly move his hand. Pain radiated from his abdomen, keeping time with his furious heartbeat. His head held the weight of a boulder and he failed to muster the strength to stand.

Matt tossed his phone to Johnny, something about an ambulance, as he and Zacky approached on either side, lifting him off Jack.

Matt clapped his palm against the back of Brian’s neck, pulling him close enough so their heads touched. “Let’s get you out of here, brother.”


End file.
